University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


PETER  BOSTEN 


PETER  BOSTEN 


A   Story   About   Realities         <&> 


By  John  Preston 


Herald  Publishing  House 

Laraoni  Iowa 


Copyright,  1915, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR 


To 

WILL  AND  KATHERINE  NICHOLS, 

Brooklyn,  New  York, 

I  count  it  a  privilege  to 

Dedicate  this  book. 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

I  KANSAS  AND  MISSOURI  9 

II  RELIGION  AND  LOVE 28 

III  KINDRED  SPIRITS  47 

IV  THE  DIVIDING  LINE 70 

V  "THE  BOY  PREACHER" 90 

VI  A  MISSIONARY'S  TROUBLES 108 

VII  PETER  COURTS  THE  MUSE 123 

VIII  INVOLVING  AN  ACTRESS  138 

IX  LIFE'S  STAGE   154 

X  COMEDY  AND  DRAMA 169 

XI  PETER  TAKES  A  HAND 183 

XII  IN  JOURNALISM  200 

XIII  AN  EASTERN  REUNION 218 

XIV  A  GULF  BETWEEN  236 

XV  THE  FREE  LANCE 252 

XVI  ILLUSIONS  OF  LIFE  272 

XVII  A  SERMON  ON  AMERICA 287 

XVIII  THE  WHY  AND  WHEREFORE 303 

XIX  "THE  WAY  OF  FAITH" 323 

XX  A  DYING  AGNOSTIC 339 

XXI  THE  NEW  PETER  .  ..346 


Kansas  and  Missouri  9 

CHAPTER  I 

KANSAS  AND  MISSOURI 

A  TALL,  lean  figure  meandered  along  one  of  the 
side  streets  of  a  Missouri  town,  obviously  going  no- 
where in  particular.  He  had  light  hair,  upon  which 
the  early-morning  sun  now  danced,  for  he  was  car- 
rying his  hat;  and  large,  blue,  interrogative  eyes, 
which  took  in  his  environment  leisurely.  The  mouth 
was  so  formed  that  one  would  expect  to  see  it  smile 
a  good  deal;  but  just  now  it  was  not  smiling,  for 
Peter  Bosten  was  somewhat  lonesome. 

The  stillness  of  Sabbath  sat  upon  the  town;  par- 
ticularly this  part  of  it,  where  the  trees  were  so 
plentiful.  Except  for  the  far-off  hum  of  trolley  cars 
and  the  occasional  toot  of  a  motor,  there  were  no 
sounds  to  jar  upon  the  meditations  of  a  reflective 
stroller. 

Peter  was  thinking  of  his  past;  of  the  quiet  years 
spent  upon  a  Kansas  farm  and  in  the  store  of  a  vil- 
lage merchant.  Was  it  these  he  was  lonesome  for, 
this  morning?  No;  he  decided  not.  He  would  not 
go  back  to  them.  Slaving  on  a  farm  for  a  mercenary 
uncle,  who  considered  it  wasting  time  to  read  or 
study,  and  catering  to  the  customers  of  a  mole-man 
like  Jerry  Muntz,  his  erstwhile  merchant  employer, 


10  Peter  Bosten 

had  no  particular  charms  for  Peter, — at  least,  for 
the  Peter  of  three  *and  twenty  years. 

Perhaps,  then,  it  was  the  two  years  of  university 
life  and  the  few  months  of  business  college  life  upon 
which  he  looked  back  with  a  sigh?  No;  Peter 
thought  not.  College  had  been  a  grind,  just  as  every- 
thing else  had  been  in  his  life.  And  yet,  somewhere 
in  the  past,  there  were  voices  that  called  to  him; 
voices  of  happiness  and  freedom,  love  and  inspira- 
tion. 

"The  books,"  he  murmuredi,  pressing  his  lips  more 
firmly  together  and  checking  ta  breath  that  too  closely 
resembled  a  sigh. 

True,  it  was  the  books.  They  had  always  been  his 
companions.  They  had  stood  him  for  friends,  loves, 
recreation, — everything.  And  now  they  were  to  be, 
in  part,  given  up.  He  was  entering  into  a  business 
office  here  in  Petit  City,  as  stenographer  and  book- 
keeper, and  would  be  obliged  to  bestow  what  mental 
energy  he  possessed  upon  his  work. 

The  day's  labor  would  no  longer  be  merely  inci- 
dental to  his  living,  as  it  had  been  on  the  farm  and  in 
the  store,  where  he  looked  forward  to  the  evening's 
study  as  the  only  serious  phase  of  his  daily  existence ; 
but  would  be  an  end  in  itself,  an  unworthy  end,  and 
of  a  nature  to  necessitate  physical  recreation:  in 


Kansas  and  Missouri  11 

other  words  a  waste  of  time:  during  the  precious 
hours  of  evening. 

Peter  inwardly  rebelled  against  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances which  impelled  him  in  the  direction  of 
business.  He  saw  no  sense  in  joining  the  money- 
mob,  whose  ranks  were  already  overcrowded,  and 
planning  a  lifelong  expenditure  of  brain  and  body 
force  for  the  mere  ignoble  purpose  of  attaining  phys- 
ical comforts.  In  fact,  he  was  rather  surprised  at 
himself,  this  bright,'  peaceful  Sunday  morning,  for 
accepting  this  position  in  Petit  City  at  all.  Why  had 
he  not,  his  savings  spent  on  a  college  course,  gone 
back  to  the  farm  again ;  to  the  physical  toil  that  left 
the  mind  free,  and  the  faculties  eager  for  study  in 
leisure  hours? 

Peter  repeated  the  question ;  and  the  answer  came 
from  a  remote  corner  of  his  brain :  Because  there  is 
in  your  nature  a  love  of  adventure,  a  hunger  and  a 
thirst  for  experiences  new.  Nor  will  you  stop  here. 
You  will  go  on  and  on,  crying  for  what  is  ahead; 
tasting  of  new  things,  and  casting  them  aside  when 
they  have  lost  their  flavor.  And  always  it  will  be 
with  you  as  it  is  now:  having  forsaken  the  old,  and 
lost  a  desire  for  it,  you  will  nevertheless  experience 
odd  longings,  associated  with  the  past;  and  by  and 
by  your  reaching  out  toward  the  future  will  become 
almost  mechanical,  void  of  the  joys  of  anticipation. 


12  Peter  Bosten 

For  this  is  your  nature,  Peter  Bosten;  and  you  are 
better  aware  of  it  than  any  man.  Yours  is  a  hungry 
mind;  and  this  world  is  a  strange  place  for  such. 
Then  at  last,-— 

But  here  the  voice  of  his  spirit  became  inaudible ; 
and  Peter  suddenly  realized  that  he  had  uncon- 
sciously selected  a  shady  spot  beside  a  large,  va- 
cant lot,  and  was  lying  on  the  grass.  He  gazed 
about  him  listlessly,  until  his  eye  caught  the  glint 
of  a  white,  stone  building  through  the  trees. 

"That  must  be  their  church/'  he  thought.  Then  he 
turned  around  and  surveyed  the  field  of  waving  grass 
behind  him.  "And  this  must  be  the  Temple  Lot.  Yes, 
there's  the  meetinghouse  of  the  other  people ;  I  forget 
what  they  call  them." 

Chiefly  because  he  was  lonesome,  Peter  rose  and 
strolled  on  toward  the  stone  church.  It  was  early, 
but  he  knew  that  these  people  had  a  habit  of  going 
to  meeting  at  all  times  of  the  day.  He  recalled,  as 
he  walked  along,  his  experiences  with  them  back  in 
Kansas;  and  shook  his  head  in  a  serio-comic  man- 
ner as  he  thought  of  the  reputation  they  had  for 
honesty  and  sincerity. 

"You've  certainly  got  to  hand  it  to  them,"  he  mur- 
mured, unwittingly  using  the  slang  of  the  day. 

The  Kansan  called  to  mind  all  the  unpleasant 
things  he  had  heard  about  them,  contrasting  this 


Kansas  and  Missouri  13 

generous  heap  of  data  with  his  own  personal  knowl- 
edge of  them ;  and  smiled  at  the  folly  of  little  minds. 
His  thoughts  then  drifted  to  the  subject  of  religion, 
and  to  the  habits  of  religionists,  in  general;  and 
again  he  shook  his  head,  this  time  compressing  his 
lips. 

He  halted  at  a  respectful  distance  from  the  stone 
church,  surveying  it  with  interest,  and  completing, 
in  his  imagination,  the  two  unfinished  steeples.  Af- 
ter speculating  on  the  labor  and  sacrifice  that  must 
have  gone  into  the  erection  of  the  structure,  he  drew 
nearer  and  read  one  of  the  announcement  boards. 

The  first  Sunday  service  was  a  young  people's 
prayer  meeting.  Peter's  watch  told  him  that  it 
would  now  be  in  progress.  Would  he  go  in,  or  would 
he  continue  his  lonely  walk? 

He  hesitated.  Not  in  a  strait  betwixt  duty  and 
desire,  but  rather  bashfulness  and  monotony.  It 
required  considerable  courage  to  interrupt  a  service, 
a  prayer  meeting  especially.  Still,  he  had  yet  to 
receive  hostile  looks  from  the  members  of  this  de- 
nomination, and — 

Well,  why  be  so  backward?  First  thing  he  knew, 
some  one  would  be  suspecting  him  of  Kansas  rear- 
ing. Peter  impulsively  took  a  step  forward,  deter- 
mining to  exercise  his  courage  now  and  henceforth 
at  every  opportunity. 


14  Peter  Bosten 

He  almost  regretted  his  bravery,  the  moment  he 
had  set  foot  in  the  prayer-room,  for  a  dead  silence 
prevailed  there.  Some  sympathetic  soul,  however, 
observing  his  embarrassment  no  doubt,  started  up  a 
hymn ;  and  Peter  resolved  to  find  that  individual  and 
reward  him  (it  was  a  bass  voice  that  started  the 
singing) ,  though  the  quest  prove  long  and  uncertain. 

The  stranger  found  a  seat  toward  the  rear  of  the 
room,  and  sat  with  eyes  and  ears  alert.  He  observed 
and  he  philosophized.  Although  it  was  not  more  than 
half-past  eight,  and  an  alluring  summer's  morning, 
there  were  many  young  men  and  women  present — 
girls  of  style  and  evident  charm,  whom  one  would 
have  expected  to  find  taking  their  beauty  sleep  or 
setting  out  on  motor  excursions.  But  here  they  were 
in  this  warm,  solemn  room;  singing,  praying  and 
standing  up  to  tell  of  "God's  goodness"  to  them. 

Peter  had  seen  a  little  of  this  back  in  the  Kansas 
town;  but  there  it  had  not  impressed  him  particu- 
larly. Village  folks  were  in  the  habit  of  getting  up 
early,  anyway ;  and  the  boys  and  girls  of  small  places 
found  their  chief  entertainment  in  congregating. 
But  here  in  the  city,  amid  innumerable  pleasures, 
where  the  stress  of  the  week  left  one  weary  on  a 
Sunday  morning,  this  young  people's  meeting  was  a 
phenomenon  to  him.  He  admitted  to  himself  that 
he  could  not  understand  it.  If  the  spirit  of  fanati- 


Kansas  and  Missouri  15 

cism  had  been  present  he  would  have  explained  the 
meeting  according  to  &  formula;  but  there  was  no 
such  spirit.  Those  who  spoke,  spoke  rationally;  and 
the  prayers  had  the  ring  of  sincerity. 

Sincerity.  It  was  this  fact  that  gripped  the  Kan- 
san.  He  marveled  at  one  or  two  of  the  girls,  es- 
pecially. They  were  not  of  the  commonly-scouted 
variety  of  "intellectuals";  that  is  to  say,  they  were 
not  wedded  to  the  intellectual  merely  in  the  absence 
of  more  alluring  weddings :  but  girls  who  knew  how 
to  make  clothes  beautify,  yet  did  not  need  the  tricks 
of  art  to  render  themselves  attractive.  Obviously 
they  were  young  women  who  would  be  sought  after. 
And  here  they  were,  thinking  more  of  the  next  world 
than  this ;  more  of  their  fellow  creatures  than  them- 
selves. 

In  the  midst  of  his  reflections  Peter  was  aware  of 
the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice,  and  turning  toward 
the  speaker  he  remembered  that  it  was  from  that 
direction  the  first  notes  of  song  had  come  to  his  re- 
lief on  entering  the  place.  This,  without  doubt,  was 
the  kind  soul  who  had  had  compassion  upon  him  in 
a  moment  of  trial.  But  the  levity  of  the  thought 
quickly  vanished ;  submerged  in  the  seriousness,  the 
sincerity,  of  the  speaker's  tone. 

Not  until  the  testimony  was  done  could  Peter 
philosophize.  He  had  been  carried  along  by  the  deep, 


%16  Peter  Bosten 


strong  current  of  soul  force  that  accompanied  it. 
He  noted  the  dark  complexion  and  pleasing  features, 
but  did  not  dwell  upon  them:  the  vibration  of  the 
voice  and  the  significance  of  the  words  were  so  much 
more  vital.  They  bespoke  a  soul  apart;  free  from 
the  dross  of  earth,  having  access  to  higher  planes  of 
thought  and  living  than  the  ordinary  creature  can 
understand. 

The  Kansan  felt  that  he,  himself,  did  not  under- 
stand. The  full  import  of  the  testimony  was  lost  on 
him,  he  knew ;  but  he  also  knew  that  the  spirit  of  it, 
the  motive  behind  it,  were  factors  that  his  own  be- 
ing could  in  some  degree  appraise;  and  he  did  not 
hesitate  a  moment  in  forming  his  judgment  of  this 
young  man. 

"One  to  be  loved  and  relied  on  for  ever,"  was  his 
verdict. 

Peter  decided  to  breast  the  tide  of  fair  and  un- 
known faces,  the  moment  the  meeting  was  over,  and 
make  his  way  toward  the  outstanding  individual 
present.  He  did  so,  grimly  ashamed  of  his  blushes ; 
and  was  surprised  to  see  that  the  one  he  sought  was 
also  seeking  him. 

They  had  clasped  hands  a  moment  before  either 
spoke,  and  their  eyes  were  in  communication.  Peter 
smiled. 


Kansas  and  Missouri  17 

"I  want  to  thank  you  for  starting  that  hymn.  It 
was  you,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes."  The  other  smiled  too,  a  smile  just  as  genu- 
ine as  Peter's.  "You  must  have  thought  it  was  a 
Quaker's  meeting?" 

"No.  I  know  your  people,  although  I  am  not  a 
member." 

"We'll  soon  fix  that,"  was  the  quick  reply,  accom- 
panied by  a  merry,  brief,  bass  laugh  which  struck 
Peter  as  being  distinctly  individual.  He  had  never 
heard  one  like  it  before. 

"Do  I  look  like  a  probable  convert?"  There  was 
mo  sarcasm  in  the  tone.  . 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  You  showed  great  courage 
in  that  doorway.  I'm  half  sorry,  now,  that  I  helped 
you  out.  You  would  have  carried  it  through  just 
the  same." 

"It  requires  courage,  then,  to  become  a  convert?" 

"They  say  it  does.  I  don't  know.  I've  been  in 
this  church  all  my  life,  and  perhaps  am  not  a  com- 
petent judge  of  that.  But  it  seems  to  me  it  would 
take  far  more  courage  to  face  the  world  without  the 
hope  we  have,  than  with  it." 

Again  there  was  the  peculiar  element  in  the  voice 
that  impressed  Peter.  Also,  he  was  struck  with  the 
sentiment. 

"It's  queer,"  he  observed,  after  a  momentary  si- 


18  Peter  Bosten 

lence  in  which  the  two  of  them  were  scarcely  con- 
scious of  their  surroundings,  "but  I  seem  to  have 
known  you  before.  Away  back  before  store  days 
and  farm  days — " 

Peter  broke  off,  unconsciously.  He  had  spoken 
more  to  himself  than  to  his  new-found  friend. 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  preexistence  of  the  soul?" 
he  asked,  suddenly  coming  out  of  his  distraction. 

"Yes,  indeed." 

As  he  had  done  beside  the  Temple  Lot,  Peter  now 
discovered  himself  seated.  And  another  discovery 
he  made,  at  the  same  moment:  he  had  forgotten  to 
give  his  name.  With  an  apologetic  grin  he  met  the 
gaze  of  his  interlocutor. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "but  I'll  trade  names  with 
you." 

The  other  laughed,  in  his  pleasant  bass.  "Now 
isn't  that  strange,"  he  replied ;  "but  it  never  occurred 
to  me  that  we — My  name's  Crayne,  Noel  Crayne." 

"And  mine's  Peter  Bosten.  I'm  from  Kansas.  Go- 
ing to  take  a  stenographic  position  with  a  firm  here 
in  Petit  City,  'The  Gray  Electric  Company.'  I  ar- 
rived late  last  night  and  found  a  temporary  boarding 
house.  Then,  being  unable  to  sleep  this  morning,  I 
got  up  and  went  for  a  walk,  which  took  me  in  this 
direction.  I  dropped  in  because  I  had  nothing  else 
to  do,  and  was  sort  of — sort  of  lonesome." 


Kansas  and  Missouri  19 

"You're  coming  with  me  for  dinner,"  said  Noel, 
conclusively. 

Before  the  Kansan  could  dispute  this  arrangement 
(he  had  no  intention  of  so  doing) ,  Crayne  went  on  to 
say  that  he  reciprocated  his  new  friend's  impressions 
regarding  a  former  acquaintance,  sometime,  some- 
where; but  was  interrupted  by  a  male  voice  from 
the  rear. 

"Hello  there,  Allan,"  said  Noel,  turning  round. 
"Meet  Mr.  Bosten,  Mr.  Leader." 

Peter  was  unfavorably  impressed,  at  first,  with 
the  intruder.  He  was  a  lad  of  perhaps  twenty,  with 
piercing  eyes,  an  aquiline  nose,  high  cheek  bones  and 
a  fighting  chin.  Instantly  Peter  detected  himself  en- 
gaging in  an  imaginary  but  sanguinary  combat  with 
this  dangerous-looking  young  fellow.  However, 
when  Leader  spoke,  although  his  tones  were  any- 
thing but  musical,  Peter  felt  an  impulsive  wave  of 
sympathy  for  him. 

"Noel,"  he  said,  regardless  of  the  presence  of  a 
stranger  who  had  been  introduced  as  "Mr."  rather 
than  "Brother,"  "I  came  over  to  tell  you  how  much 
good  your  testimony  did  me  this  morning." 

The  speaker's  voice  began  to  shake,  and  tears  stole 
into  his  eyes.  Peter  marveled  at  these  phenomena. 
They  were  so  contradictory  to  the  features  and  per- 
sonality of  Leader.  But  he  was  speaking  on. 


20  Peter  Bosten 

"It  was  a  fight  for  me  to  come  here,  I  can  tell  you. 
The  very  powers  of  evil  seemed  drawing  me — well, 
you  know  where.  Noel,  I  want  you  to  pray  for  me. 
I  believe  God  listens  to  a  man  like  you." 

These  words  were  spoken  in  a  tone  of  conviction. 
Peter  could  not  but  realize  that  the  speaker  was  sin- 
cere ;  and  a  familiar  question  confronted  him.  Why 
could  not  he  thus  believe  in  God's  intervention  in 
human  affairs?  Or,  rather,  why  did  he  not?  Why 
did  not  the  necessity  of  it  appeal  to  him? 

When  the  Kansan  came  out  of  his  meditation  he 
realized  that  Leader  had  gone  and  Crayne  was  con- 
versing with  two  girls.  Instinctively  he  moved 
away;  but  Noel  caught  his  sleeve  and  drew  him 
closer  to  the  delectable  danger. 

Then  Peter  was  introduced  to  Jessie  Kirkton  and 
Adele  Cressy.  He  remembered  hearing  Miss  Kirk- 
ton  speak  in  the  meeting,  but  not  Miss  Cressy.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  latter  had  not  spoken. 

The  contrast  between  Allan  Leader  and  Noel 
Crayne,  thought  the  visitor,  was  not  more  marked 
than  that  between  these  two  girls.  One  was  quiet, 
extremely  modest,  thoughtful  of  countenance,  and 
possessed  a  beauty  seemingly  independent  of  the 
physical ;  the  other  was  pretty,  proud  and  apparently 
superficial.  That  both  of  them  liked  Crayne  was  at 
once  apparent  to  the  observant  Kansan. 


Kansas  and  Missouri  21 

Miss  Kirkton  mentioned  how  she  had  enjoyed  the 
meeting,  and  at  the  remark  Miss  Cressy  glanced  at 
the  stranger  rather  apologetically  and  smiled  an 
enigmatic  smile.  A  faint  flush  touched  the  cheeks  of 
the  former,  at  this  (and  Miss  Cressy,  Peter  was  con- 
vinced, not  himself,  had  provoked  it)  ;  which  caused 
Noel  to  produce  those  musical,  guttural  sounds  of 
his,  and  observe: 

"This  fellow  isn't  a  brother  yet,  but  see  how  young 
he  is." 

Peter  laughed,  and  assured  them  that  all  the  same 
he  had  enjoyed  the  prayer  service  too. 

Suddenly  Miss  Kirkton  asked  him  if  he  sang;  he 
hesitated — and  all  was  lost.  A  moment  later  another 
Miss  Kirkton  had  been  summoned,  to  whom  he  was 
introduced  and  turned  over  with  such  expedition  that 
he  felt  a  trifle  dizzy.  Before  he  fully  comprehended 
what  was  being  done,  he  found  himself  pledged  to 
help  in  the  choir. 

Peter's  face  assumed  such  a  comical  expression  of 
despair,  when  he  realized  he  had  committed  himself, 
that  Bertha  Kirkton,  Jessie's  sister,  felt  constrained 
to  fortify  him  against  the  ordeal.  She  told  him  that 
Crayne  would  be  close  beside  him  and — 

But  this  was  enough.  Peter's  face  lighted  up  right 
away,  and  he  agreed  to  do  his  best.  Noel's  eyes 
gleamed  with  pleasure. 


22  Peter  Bosten 

"Say,  Jessie/'  he  said,  "if  you'll  take  my  class  this 
morning  I  think  I'll  skip  Sunday  school.  I've  a  good 
reason." 

He  whispered  something  in  her  ear,  and  the  pact 
was  arranged. 

A  few  minutes  later  Peter  found  himself  on  the 
way  to  his  boarding  house,  in  company  with  Noel, 
who  had  formed  some  sort  of  resolution,  the  sub- 
stance of  which  was  not  quite  apparent  to  the 
Kansan. 

When  Peter  was  commanded  to  pack  his  suit  case 
and  leave  instructions  for  a  trunk  to  be  sent  to  1441 
Walton  Street,  the  fullness  of  Noel's  perfidy  finally 
swept  down  upon  him. 

"Now  come  on,  please,"  coaxed  the  Missourian, 
his  companion  having  shown  signs  of  balking,  "even 
if  it's  only  for  a  day  or  two.  We  have  three  big 
empty  rooms,  and  mother  and  I  are  lonesome.  Say, 
if  you  only  knew  how  my  mammy  can  cook,  you'd — " 

Noel  halted,  and  they  laughed  in  each  other's 
faces.  It  was  iall  so  jolly  to  Peter,  who  had  never 
known  such  full  and  spontaneous  friendship  as  this ; 
and  an  adventure,  too,  so  much  after  Noel's  own 
heart.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  pull  together, 
they  decided,  finally:  which,  the  Kansan  discovered, 
in  this  case  meant  pulling  in  Noel's  direction:  so 


Kansas  and  Missouri  23 

they  each  took  a  strap  of  Peter's  suit  case  and  walked 
up  the  middle  of  the  street  with  it. 

Was  this  the  same  Crayne  who  had  commanded 
the  attention  of  a  hundred  young  men  and  women  so 
solemnly  an  hour  ago?  Peter  glanced  at  him  inter- 
rogatively, bewilderedly,  and  wondered  when  the 
awakening  from  this  dream  would  come. 

But  it  did  not  come.  Instead,  the  dream  pro- 
gressed in  its  fairy-like  course,  bringing  the  Kansan 
in  touch  with  another  desirable  character, — Mrs. 
Crayne. 

She  received  her  son  and  the  visitor  literally  with 
open  arms.  It  was  a  hospitable  movement  charac- 
teristic of  her.  And  Peter  noticed  that  her  eyes  were 
the  same  shape  as  Noel's,  large  and  rather  oblique, 
and  had  a  way,  like  his,  of  glistening  with  pleasure. 

There  were  no  whispered  consultations  behind 
doors,  or  other  evidences  of  enforced  welcome.  Noel 
merely  said  that  he  had  brought  their  home  a  pleas- 
ant surprise,  as  though  the  visitor  were  a  Christmas 
present.  This  made  an  end  of  the  matter. 

Peter  was  shown  to  the  cleanest  bedroom  he  had 
ever  seen,  and  told  that  this  was  his.  He  might 
have  been  a  dear  relative.  Here,  he  reflected,  hos- 
pitality was  complete. 

Peter  was  asked,  upon  descending  to  the  living 
room,  whether  he  would  prefer  to  attend  church  at 


24  Peter  Bosten 

eleven  o'clock  or  stay  home  and  visit  with  Mrs. 
Crayne.  A  fearful  vision  of  himself  in  the  choir 
persuaded  him  to  make  the  easy  choice,  but  imme- 
diately he  changed  his  mind,  for  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  would  be  keeping  Noel's  mother  home  from 
the  service.  He  was  glad  he  had  made  the  sacrifice 
when  he  saw  the  pleased  expression  on  her  face  and 
her  son's. 

Were  they  trying  to  convert  him?  he  asked  him- 
self, with  a  secret  smile.  If  so,  he  would  be  obliged 
to  yield,  out  of  very  appreciation  of  their  kindness. 
But  he  could  not,  and  did  not,  really  charge  them 
with  any  such  intentions.  They  had  favored  him 
out  of  the  goodness  of  their  hearts,  and  he  loved 
them  for  it.  That  he  differed  now  and  might  for 
ever  differ  from  them  on  matters  of  theology  was 
irrelevant  to  this  wonderful  friendship,  so  suddenly 
and  sincerely  begun. 

Mrs.  Crayne  asked  the  boys  not  to  wait  for  her,  as 
she  would  be  late.  Besides,  Noel  had  to  arrive  ten 
minutes  early  to  arrange  the  anthems. 

The  mention  of  the  word  Anthem  almost  over- 
balanced the  Kansan's  still  wavering  courage ;  but  he 
was  buoyed  up  by  the  tactful  Noel  with  many  logical 
assurances. 

On  the  way  to  the  church  Peter  found  occasion  to 


Kansas  and  Missouri  25 

inquire  about  Allan  Leader,  who  was  still  on  his 
mind. 

"You  would  hardly  believe,"  Noel  replied,  as 
though  speaking  to  an  old-time  confidant,  "what  that 
fellow's  been  through.  He  began  life  in  good  sur- 
roundings: his  father  is  one  of  our  best  men  and 
preachers:  but  he  drifted  into  the  very  purple  of 
iniquity,  and  it's  only  of  late  he  has  tried  to  lift 
himself  out  of  it." 

Peter  appreciated  this  confidence  more  than  he 
could  say.  Noel's  utter  disregard  for  appearances; 
his  superiority,  for  instance,  to  such  a  qualification 
as  would  have  kept  Allan's  father  out  of  mention; 
struck  the  Kansan  as  an  admirable  example  of  hon- 
esty and  fearlessness  of  dishonesty.  Here  was  a 
character  with  whom  one  could  be  unreservedly 
truthful,  for  he  was  so  himself. 

They  talked  awhile  about  Leader,  Noel  express- 
ing the  hope  that  good  influences  would  succeed  in 
permanently  winning  him  back  from  a  life  of  folly. 

"Why  do  you  say  'good  influences/  rather  than 
God?"  Peter  asked,  not  with  any  desire  to  be  clever. 

Noel  took  the  question  seriously;  seemed  glad,  in 
fact,  that  it  had  been  propounded. 

"Because  I  like  to  feel  that  man  has  a  lot  to  do 
with  his  own  salvation — and  that  of  his  fellows.  Our 


26  Peter  Bosten 

church,  Mr.  Bosten,  does  not  preach  the  saved-by- 
grace  doctrine.  We  lay  emphasis  on  works," 

The  Kansan's  large,  interrogative  eyes  widened  in 
appreciation. 

"That,"  he  returned,  "is  the  most  sensible  piece  of 
theology  I've  yet  heard." 

The  argument,  if  argument  it  could  be  called, 
would  doubtless  have  gone  further,  had  not  the 
church  been  at  hand.  They  entered  a  side  door  lead- 
ing into  the  basement,  and  there  the  choir  had  al- 
ready gathered. 

Noel  was  soon  the  center  of  interest,  a  fact  that 
Peter  did  not  marvel  at.  The  girls  especially  had  a 
way  of  drifting  toward  him,  that  reminded  the  Kan- 
san  of  analogies  in  nature  too  numerous  to  mention. 
But  Noel  was  more  bent  on  introducing  his  new 
friend  and  making  him  feel  at  home,  than  on  answer- 
ing irrelevant  questions  and  returning  pretty  greet- 
ings. 

On  one  girl,  however,  the  Missourian  did  attend, 
the  moment  he  saw  her  approaching.  It  was  Jessie 
Kirkton,  and  she  had  some  one  at  her  heels. 

The  some  one  was  Helen  Dyke. 

A  singular  thing  happened  to  Peter  when  he  took 
the  hand  Helen  offered.  He  who  did  not  believe  in 
visions,  saw  one.  Green  fields,  and  the  play  of  sun- 
light on  water.  High-floating  clouds,  and — 


Kansas  and  Missouri  27 

But  the  vision  mysteriously  disappeared,  for  a 
very  natural  reason.  He  had  been  seeing  it  in  great, 
dark  eyes,  over  which  the  lids  now  suddenly  and 
bashfully  fell. 

The  Kansan  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  he 
ought  to  apologize.  But  he  could  not  frame  suitable 
phrases.  So  he  looked  at  the  toe  of  his  shoe. 


28  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  II 

RELIGION  AND  LOVE 

THE  two  friends  were  sitting  on  the  front-ver- 
anda, digesting  one  of  Mrs.  Crayne's  notable  dinners. 
At  the  solicitation  of  both  Noel  and  his  mother, 
Peter  had  taken  up  his  abode  with  them  as  a  boarder. 
But  never,  in  the  history  of  boarding  houses,  had 
there  been  one  like  this. 

Peter  was  in  a  retrospective  mood,  and  while  he 
was  loath  to  interrupt  the  sketch,  whatever  it  was, 
that  Noel  was  making  in  pencil,  on  a  bit  of  paper, 
he  could  not  refrain  from  indulging  in  pleasant 
reminiscences.  Several  months  had  passed  since 
his  coming  to  Petit  City ;  but  the  fairy  tale  was  still 
being  spun,  and  seemed  likely  to  continue.  There 
had  been  no  breaks  in  the  fabric  of  it.  Peter  had 
been  exceedingly  happy. 

Of  course,  there  had  been  religious  discussions  to 
no  end,  and,  Peter  hoped,  these  would  continue.  For 
they  were  not  of  the  kind  that  end  in  personalities, 
misunderstanding  and  ill-feeling ;  but  arguments  in- 
volving only  ideas  and  a  sincere  desire  for  the  eluci- 
dation of  truth. 

One  circumstance  puzzled  the  Kansan,  in  spite  of 
his  high  regard  for  the  mental  liberality  of  these  his 


Religion  and  Love  29 

friends :  the  entire  absence  of  fear  on  Mrs.  Crayne's 
part  that  he  (Peter)  would  alienate  NoePs  mind 
from  his  faith.  This  assurance,  he  was  compelled  to 
admit,  was  not  mere  egotism ;  for  the  Craynes  were 
anything  but  egotists.  Their  very  creed  necessitated 
the  obliteration  of  the  ego,  or,  rather,  the  submerg- 
ing of  it  in  the  will  of  the  divine. 

Theological  queries,  however,  were  in  the  back  of 
his  mind  this  noon  hour.  Immediately  in  his 
thoughts  were  the  incidents  and  coincidences  that 
had  marked  his  coming  to  the  Craynes'  and  his  so- 
journ with  them. 

"Noel,"  he  remarked,  "as  you  sit  there  making 
a  sketch  of  your  Jessie " 

"Don't  flatter  yourself,"  Noel  interrupted,  with  a 
grin,  "that  this  series  of  lines  here  portrays  the 
beauty  you  have  mentioned." 

Whereat  the  sketch  was  flashed  in  Peter's  face, 
and  he  saw  a  likeness  not  of  Jessie  Kirkton  but  of 
himself.  And  the  artist  gave  vent  to  his  odd  bass 
laugh,  which  made  Peter  think  of  a  different  musical 
instrument  each  time  it  was  sounded.  Now  he  as- 
sociated it  with  a  rapid  cadenza  on  a  bass  viol. 

"I  apologize  to  Jessie,"  said  the  Kansan,  taking 
the  sketch  and  admiring  it,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
it  was  his  own  profile.  "But  I  was  going  to  say:  As 
you  sit  there  amusing  yourself  with  pencil  and  paper, 


30  Peter  Bosten 

I  can  scarcely  identify  you  with  the  Noel  Crayne  I 
met  that  Sunday  morning  in  the  church  basement." 
"How  is  that?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  know.  You  seemed  to  me  like  a 
being  from  Mars  or  some  other  planet  above  the 
earth,  then.  Now  you  are  merely  a  man,  like  myself, 
—eh?" 

The  "eh"  interpreted  the  remark  for  Noel.  He 
knew  that  his  friend  was  simply  drawing  him  out, 
as  usual,  in  order  to  make  a  point  of  his,  Noel's,  sup- 
posed superiority. 

"Peter,"  he  returned,  "you  may  not  believe  it,  but 
let  me  tell  you  that  often  I  envy  you  and  your  ways. 
I  can  not  conceive  of  myself  facing  the  universe  with 
a  question,  as  you  seem  to  do,  and  of  still  retaining 
my  grip  upon  myself,  upon  morality  and  high  ideals. 
I  depend  upon  my  faith  in  God  and  a  hereafter  to 
keep  me  up ;  yes,  I  know  I  do." 

The  Kansan  looked  at  his  watch,  not  like  one  who 
would  gladly  escape  present  company,  but  as  though 
he  regretted  the  passage  of  time. 

"I'm  renting  that  little  Ford  again  this  afternoon," 
he  said,  grinning.  "Promised  to  call  at  a  certain 
address  about  three  o'clock.  So  don't  let  us  get  down 
so  deep,  Noel,  that  we  can  not  extricate  ourselves  in 
time  for  my  engagement." 


Religion  find  Love  31 

Their  voices  blended  in  a  chuckle,  for  well  they 
knew  their  failings. 

"I  wouldn't  have  you  miss  the  appointment  for 
worlds,"  observed  Noel.  "And  I'm  not  only  thinking 
of  you,  either." 

"Ah,  go  on,  you — sentimentalist! — But  anyway, 
I'm  thinking  it  would  take  considerable  to  make 
me  forget  my  pleasure  to  that  extent.  Noel,  now 
seriously,  why  should  I  take  such  entire  leave  of  my 
reason  as  to  keep  doing  this  thing  when  I  know  it 
will  all  end  in  disappointment ?" 

"Peter!"  came  the  admonition,  "you  mustn't  keep 
thinking  of  disastrous  consequences  all  the  time  like 
this.  Do  you  know  what  you  are?  You're  a  fatalist; 
a  fatalist  in  love  as  in  religion.  What  you  need  is 
a  little  faith." 

It  always  happened  like  this.  No  matter  what 
subject  they  discussed,  they  came  back,  automati- 
cally, to  religion ;  to  the  spiritual  laws  affecting  man's 
life  on  earth  and  beyond. 

The  Kansan  was  silent  a  moment.  However 
widely  he  differed  from  Noel  in  theory,  the  Mis- 
sou  rian  put  such  sweeping  earnestness  into  his  as- 
sertions that  under  its  influence  Peter  frequently  be- 
came aware  of  the  staggering  of  logic.  It  was  a 
strange  feeling,  capable  of  involving  the  derange- 
ment of  the  entire  universe,  he  conceived,  if  carried 


32  Peter  Bosten 

beyond  certain  bounds.  What  those  bounds  were  he 
could  not  determine,  any  more  than  he  could  deter- 
mine the  nature  of  this  influence  that  radiated  from 
Noel  Crayne. 

"If  I  need  faith/'  he  asked,  throwing  off  the  weight 
of  his  subconscious  reflections,  "why  do  you  say 
that  sometimes  you  envy  me?  Am  I  not  to  be  pitied 
if  your  faith  be  true  and  I  can  not  grasp  it?" 

Noel's  eyes  sparkled,  as  they  always  did  on  these 
occasions. 

"An  ignorant  man  might  pity  you,  Peter,  but  a 
thinking  man  never  could.  The  reason  for  this  is 
that  you  are,  beyond  doubt,  sincere.  Only  the  insin- 
cere are,  or  ought  to  be,  the  objects  of  pity.  You 
are  a  most  peculiar  case ;  the  hardest,  in  fact,  that  I 
have  ever  met.  There  is  no  way  of  getting  at  you, 
it  seems.  One  must  reason  with  you  on  an  abstract 
basis ;  and  you  are  so  intensely  logical  that  you  would 
drive  most  men  mad  in  an  argument.  But  you  never 
take  unfair  advantage  of  a  controversialist,  and  you 
do  not  often  resort  to  sophistry.  Therefore  I  ad- 
mire your — your  intellect.  But  this  envy  of  mine 
concerns  your  soul,  rather  than  your  brain — if  we 
can  make  a  distinction  between  the  two.  You  live 
independently  of  your  fellows;  you  do  not,  you  say, 
believe  in  any  of  our  religions ;  you  can  not  compre- 
hend &  God:  and  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  you  love 


Religion  and  Love  33 

your  fellow  men,  you  devote  yourself  to  good  works, 
believe  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and — and 
argue  without  losing  your  ballast!" 

Peter  made  a  smiling  comment  on  his  friend's 
oratory,  but  sobered  down  instantly  as  he  concen- 
trated on  one  of  Noel's  statements. 

"You  say  that  you  know  you  could  not  'keep  up' 
without  this  faith  of  yours,  Noel.  Now,  I  believe 
that  you  could.  You  and  men  like  you,  of  which, 
thank  goodness,  there  are  a  few  in  the  world,  are 
what  you  are  because  of  the  centuries,  the  eons,  the 
influences  that  lay  behind  you.  Not  because  of  your 
belief  in  a  God,  but  in  spite  of  it.  You  could  sur- 
render this  belief,  and  still  crave  what  is  noble  and 
good  and  true " 

"But,"  came  the  interruption,  "without  the  Scrip- 
tures, which  we  cherish,  where  would  we  find  stand- 
ards of  goodness  and  truth?  What  would  we  be 
guided  by?" 

Peter  smiled. 

"There  we  come  to  the  dividing  line,  as  usual,"  he 
said.  "You  always  seem  to  forget  that  you  are  talk- 
ing to  an  agnostic  instead  of  a  religionist." 

"So  I  do,"  agreed  Noel.  "You  maintain  that  the 
Bible  and  everything  else  in  this  world,  except  Na- 
ture, is  the  work  of  man." 

"Yes.    Man  made  religion  what  it  is :  religion  did 


34  Peter  Bosten 

not  make  man  what  he  is.  He  came  to  his  present 
status  by  fighting  the  fight  of  the  universe,  which  has 
been  unswervingly  onward  and  upward,  through  the 
slime  and  morass,  in  blood  and  sweat.  He  has  set 
up  standards  for  himself  all  along  the  way;  and  these 
have  become  nobler,  as  he  has  became  nobler.  If  he 
desires  to  create  a  god,  if  that  god  be  as  noble  as 
yours,  I  say  let  him  go  on  creating.  But  I  must  re- 
serve the  right,  as  a  rational  being,  to  follow  my 
own  standards.  And  whether  they  are  as  lofty  as 
yours  or  not  can  only  be  determined  by  our  actions. 
Does  not  this  faith  of  yours,  let  me  ask  you,  in  the 
final  analysis  mean  works?  And  how  are  these 
works  judged?  By  faith  in  the  divine,  or  by  the 
human  faculty  we  call  reason!  Will  you  answer  me 
that,  Noel?" 

"Peter,  I'm  not  sure  that  I  quite  follow  you.  Yes, 
wait  a  minute.  Here  again  we  come  to  the  abstract. 
You  place  reason  anterior  to  faith ;  I  put  faith  before 
reason.  It  is  a  matter  not  of  logic  but  of  choice,  of 
spiritual  inclination." 

"No,  I  think  you  are  wrong,  Noel."  Peter  was 
warming  up.  "You  believe  in  God  and  your  gospel, 
don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  do  so  out  of  choice?    Is  it  a  mere  whim? 


Religion  find  Love  35 

Or  do  you  do  so  because  you  believe  it  to  be  right?" 

"Because  I  believe  it  to  be  right,  of  course." 

"Then  you  have  a  reason  for  your  faith :  a  'reason 
for  the  hope  that  is  within  you/  as  your  splendid 
orator,  Mr.  Leader,  said  this  morning  in  his  sermon. 
Why,  it  is  this  disposition  on  your  part  and  on  the 
part  of  your  preachers  that  warms  me  to  you.  Every 
earnest  member  of  your  church  seems  not  only  will- 
ing but  anxious  to  give  a  reason  for  his  belief.  Is 
that  not  so?" 

"It  is,"  replied  Noel,  unequivocally. 

"Then,"  Peter  returned  quickly,  "is  not  reason 
anterior  to  faith?" 

Noel  considered  the  question  well  before  replying. 

"Peter,"  he  said,  at  length,  "I  feel  that  there  is  an 
answer  somewhere,  but  I  can  not  command  it.  We 
will  call  this  a  point  in  your  favor,  for  the  time  be- 
ing. Let  us  go  back  to  your  theory  of  evolution. 
Tell  me,  in  what  way  is  a  true  interpretation  of  this 
doctrine  in  conflict  with  the  idea  of  God?  How  does 
it  account  for  Nature?" 

"I  don't  say  it  is  thus  in  conflict.  But  I  do  say 
that  it  is  opposed  to  the  common  conception  of  God. 
There  may  be  a  Divine  Being.  I  can  not  compre- 
hend him,  but  he  may  exist  for  all  that.  But  if  so, 
he  is  infinitely  above  the  God  of  the  ancient  Israel- 
ites, who,  I  believe,  are  responsible  for  that  beauti- 


36  Peter  Bosten 

ful,  poetical  and  fanciful  work  the  Bible;  yes,  and 
above  the  modern  Christian's  conception,  too.  He  is 
a  being  in  harmony  with  the  greatness  of  this  uni- 
verse, the  workings  of  which  the  human  family  is 
just  beginning  to  vaguely  understand.  Even  you, 
Noel,  make  him  an  interested  spectator  in  the  petty 
concerns  of  our  infinitesimal  individual  existences. 
To  me  this  is  inconceivable.  To  you  it  seems  to  be 
conceivable.  And  there  we  are — at  the  dividing  line 
again.  But  my  point  is  this :  that  my  belief  is  more 
reasonable  than  yours,  and  therefore  more  desirable. 
I  concern  myself  with  this  world  alone,  cherishing  no 
illusions,  but  doing  my  poor  best.  You  do  your  best, 
but  you  have  illusions  and  they  hamper  you.  With- 
out them  you  would  be  even  a  nobler  and  stronger 
character  than  you  are." 

The  Missourian  spoke  after  a  thoughtful  pause. 

"You  forgot  to  answer  my  question  about  evolu- 
tion and  Nature.  What  does  your  belief  do  with  the 
grass  of  the  fields?  And,  for  that  matter,  with  all 
life?  With  birth  and  with  death?" 

"Leaves  them  alone,  as  incomprehensibles,"  re- 
plied the  Kansan.  "Religionists  go  building  the- 
ories around  them.  I  can  not  accept  these  specula- 
tions; to  me  they  are  mere  human  vagaries.  I  can 
not,  for  instance,  believe  in  the  garden  of  Eden  story, 
or  the  story  of  Creation.  Judged  in  the  light  of  all 


Religion  find  Love  37 

the  knowledge  I  possess,  they  are  unreasonable,  im- 
possible. Nor  can  I  see  any  possible  advantage  in 
twjing  to  believe  them.  Observation  has  convinced 
me  that  men  and  women  may  go  through  this  world 
leading  clean,  admirable,  useful  lives  without  believ- 
ing in  them.  Here  you  will  say  that  our  lives  may  be 
admirable  on  the  surface  but  if  we  do  not  have  the 
'love  of  God'  in  our  hearts  we  are  empty  shells. 
This,  I  beg  to  say,  is  a  supposition,  and  I  have  no 
room  in  my  creed  for  suppositions.  My  beliefs, 
whatever  they  are,  rest  upon  knowledge  and  reason. 
But  you  have  no  right,  Noel,  to  ask  me  to  explain 
what  neither  I  nor  yourself  really  understand.  If 
I  followed  the  same  line  of  argument  I  would  ask 
you  to  work  a  miracle,  since  you  believe  in  miracles." 

Noel  put  his  hand  on  his  friend's  knee. 

"Peter,"  he  smiled,  "you  are  too  keen  for  me — too 
clever." 

"No,  it's  not  that,  old  boy.  It's  the  logic.  Honest 
men  like  you  can  not  stem  it.  I  don't  deserve  a  bit 
of  the  credit  myself." 

"And  yet,"  Noel  returned,  "I  am  not  convinced. 
I  still  believe  that  my  view  is  right ;  that  there  is  a 
God  in  heaven  who  guides  us " 

"I  have  not  denied  God,"  Peter  interrupted. 

"My  God,  you  have;  the  Father  of  the  human 
family  and  of  past  and  present  revelation.  If  you 


38  Peter  Bosten 

have  a  god,  Peter,  he  is  different  from  mine;  dif- 
ferent from  the  only  true  and  living  God." 

Peter  shook  his  head,  rather  sadly. 

"There  you  go  again  with  your  assumptions,"  he 
said,  as  near  to  impatience  as  he  ever  got  with  the 
Missourian. 

"I  beg  your  pardon/'  Noel  apologized :  "and  now 
I  may  continue  in  my  assumption!  I  still  have  my 
faith  whole,  Peter.  Moreover,  I  go  so  far  as  to  pre- 
dict that  some  day  you  will  see  as  I  do — because  you 
are  honest.  There  is  a  passage  in  the  Scriptures  I 
love,  which  says :  'If  any  of  you  lack  wisdom,  let  him 
ask  of  God  that  giveth  to  all  men  liberally,  and  up- 
braideth  not;  and  it  shall  be  given  him.'  If  you 
would  only  pray  earnestly,  Peter,  this  faith,  this  con- 
viction, of  mine  and  my  brothers  would  come  to  you. 
I  know  it  would." 

Out  of  respect  for  the  sincerity  of  these  senti- 
ments rather  than  the  sentiments  themselves,  Peter 
forbore  to  reply.  He  was  afraid  of  wounding  so  fine 
a  spirit  as  Noel's  by  delving  too  deeply  with  his 
human  weapons.  Moreover,  he  was  restrained  again 
by  the  subtle  influence  that  often  accompanied  such 
whole-hearted  declarations  of  Noel's. 

He  did  not  tell  his  friend,  at  this  time,  of  the  night 
he  had  kneeled  to  pray  for  the  wisdom  promised  and 
broken  into  a  spell  of  weeping  so  violent  its  effects 


Religion  and  Love  39 

remained  with  him  for  days ;  nor  did  he  recount  his 
consequent  reflections :  By  going  contrary  to  reason 
and  appealing  to  a  god  in  whom  he  could  not  believe, 
he  had  deliberately  upset  the  psychologic  arrange- 
ment of  his  mind,  a  mind  intrinsically  rational,  and 
induced  a  common  phenomenon — a  disturbance  of 
the  emotions.  He  had  seen  the  same  thing  happen 
in  others,  of  various  creeds  and  degrees  of  intellec- 
tuality. Some  individuals,  even  whole  congrega- 
tions, so  far  surrendered  themselves,  against  reason, 
to  the  domination  of  fancy  that  they  became  tem- 
porarily insane.  Under  such  conditions  Peter  had 
witnessed  what  were  called  certain  "gifts  of  the  gos- 
pel," of  the  validity  of  which  and  the  reason  for 
which  he  could  not  conceive. 

His  crying  spell,  upon  the  night  of  his  attempt 
to  pray,  had  resulted  in  a  resolution  to  tamper  no 
more  with  the  unknown.  But  he  did  not  tell  Noel 
of  this  resolution,  to-day.  He  might  do  so,  he 
thought,  at  some  future  time. 

Notwithstanding  he  was  about  to  enter  upon  the 
great  weekly  adventure :  his  Sunday  afternoon  meet- 
ing with  Helen  Dyke:  the  Kansan  reluctantly  tore 
himself  away  from  Noel.  Their  friendship  was  a 
source  of  constant  wonder  to  him.  Like  tastes  and 
temperaments  did  not  seem  to  fully  explain  it. 
Neither  did  contrary  religious  views.  Peter  felt 


40  Peter  Bosten 

that  it  was,  perhaps,  a  biological  affinitization,  more 
nearly  explainable  from  the  evolutionist's  viewpoint 
than  any  other ;  but  even  then  it  was,  like  miracles, 
not  susceptible  of  complete  analysis. 

"Noel  is  thankful  to  his  god  for  faith.  Let  me  be 
thankful  to  my  God  for  this  friendship." 

Peter  thus  soliloquized  as  he  walked  toward  the 
garage  where  his  Ford  awaited  him. 

The  little  machine  was  in  good  condition,  and  he 
had  learned  to  operate  it  safely.  As  he  sailed  down 
Grandview  Avenue,  in  the  direction  of  a  well-known 
bungalow,  he  could  not  but  feel  that,  with  all  its 
gloom  and  mystery,  life  was  worth  while.  And,  with 
these  emotions  that  played  around  the  heart  at 
thought  of  a  woman,  he  concluded  that  life  in  any 
age,  however  primeval,  must  be  a  joy. 

This  reflection  gave  birth  to  others,  chief  among 
which  was  a  query  concerning  the  thing  called  hap- 
piness. Did  not  the  savage,  the  eater  of  raw  meat 
and  the  slayer  of  his  fellows,  feel  thrills  very  similar 
to  those  that  he,  Peter  Bosten,  now  experienced,  in 
thinking  of  a  loved  one  and  anticipating  a  meeting? 
Undoubtedly.  Then  to  what  extent  were  such  joy- 
pangs  the  product  of  mind?  How  about  the  beast 
of  the  field?  Did  not  he,  also,  know  something  of 
physical  affection?  Nay,  more;  did  he  not  choose, 
with  unerring  instinct,  a  favorite  from  the  herd? 


Religion  &nd  Love  41 

Few  of  the  pedestrians  on  Grandview  Avenue  who 
saw  a  well-dressed  young  gentleman  speeding  in  a 
motor  car  would  have  even  remotely  associated  him 
with  such  ponderous  cogitations,  perhaps ;  but  never- 
theless, Peter  wrestled  with  thought  as  he  sped  along. 
And  through  and  behind  his  musings  echoed  phrases 
^nd  sentences  of  Noel's. 

After  all,  might  not  he,  Peter,  be  the  fool  and  Noel 
the  wise  man?  Who  could  tell? 

Peter  sighed. 

Did  Noel  Crayne,  after  all,  really  know  what  he 
claimed  to  know?  Had  he  the  assurance  of  truth, 
which,  according  to  Mr.  Leader's  sermon  to-day, 
went  with  the  right  kind  of  faith?  If  so,  why  was 
not  this  faith,  this  comforter,  vouchsafed  to  every 
earnest  inquirer?  Why  did  not  he,  Peter  Bosten, 
possess  it?  Surely  a  kind,  loving,  all- wise  God 
could  not  be  offended  at  him  for  refraining  from  a 
prayer  that  led  to  hysterics? 

"Is  there  something  the  matter  with  my  brain?" 
Peter  wondered.  "Is  faith  a  biological  impossibility 
with  me?  Am  I  centuries,  eons,  behind  Noel  Crayne 
in  the  scale  of  life?  Do  I  lack  the  'spiritual  faculty' 
of  which  religionists  make  so  much  capital?" 

With  untiring  mental  vigor  he  kept  up  the  discus- 
sion in  his  brain  until  a  familiar  figure  waved  to 


42  Peter  Bosten 

him  from  the  veranda  of  a  bungalow,  and  signaled 
that  she  would  be  out  immediately. 

The  sight  of  her  set  his  mind  at  rest;  and  when 
she  came  near  and  he  felt  her  happy,  glorious  pres- 
ence, he  congratulated  the  universe  on  its  work. 
Whoever  the  Creator  was,  the  created  was  a  thing 
of  beauty  for  ever;  made  to  impart  life  and  happi- 
ness. Peter  did  not  know  whence  she  came.  Indeed, 
he  did  not  care  to  know,  while  with  her.  This  femi- 
nine being  was  the  arc  that  had  long  been  missing 
from  his  circle :  now  the  circle  was  complete.  What 
did  reasonings  and  abstractions  matter?  Here  was 
something  concrete,  undeniably  good,  unquestionably 
necessary,  infinitely  desirable. 

"Peter,"  she  said,  in  the  very  voice  one  would  have 
expected  to  accompany  those  vivacious  features,  "you 
look  at  me  but  you  don't  say  anything." 

He  reached  for  the  brake-lever,  but  somehow  or 
other  his  hand  went  astray ;  and  returning  her  gaze, 
this  time  without  the  "blank  look,"  of  which  she 
often  complained,  he  exclaimed : 

"I  was  thinking  of  you  so  hard,  Helen,  that  I  for- 
got to  speak.  What  shall  I  say, — something  about 
the  weather?  By  the  way,  do  you  want  to  run  this 
jitney?" 

"No,  no,  you  do.    When  I  drive,  you  go  away  off 


Religion  find  Love  43 

into  space  and  overlook  me  entirely.  The  wheel 
seems  to  help  me  keep  you  down  to  earth." 

"That's  where  I  want  to  be,"  he  returned,  gal- 
lantly, "when  you're  here." 

She  tossed  her  head  a  little,  to  make  it  appear  that 
she  did  not  like  such  sentiments;  but  Peter  felt  no 
pangs  of  remorse  over  what  he  had  said :  which  goes 
to  show  what  strides  he  was  making  in  some  of  the 
gentler  arts. 

They  talked  little  as  the  machine  bore  them  swiftly 
along.  By  and  by,  they  knew,  a  shady  rural  spot 
would  come  into  view ;  and  there  they  would  rest,  as 
was  their  custom. 

As  they  turned  eastward  from  Grandview  Avenue 
they  passed  two  strollers  who  waved  at  them. 

"Who  were  they?"  asked  Peter,  looking  back  over 
his  shoulder. 

"Allan  Leader,"  replied  Helen,  "and  Adele 
Cressy." 

"Adele  Cressy!" 

"Yes, — why?    You  seem  surprised." 

"So  I  am.  I  didn't  think  she  would  ever  be  at- 
tracted to  a  fellow  like  Allan." 

"Do  you  think  she  is  any  better  than  he  is,  Peter?" 

"Better?  No,  certainly  not.  I  was  thinking  of 
the  superficial  aspect  of  it.  She  is  a  girl  of  peculiar 


44  Peter  Bosten 

charm.     Allan  is  a  rough-and-ready  sort.     She  is 
fastidious;  he  is  not." 

Helen  smiled. 

"You  seem  to  forget  that  a  girl  sometimes  does  a 
thing  without  any  particular  reason.  This  is  prob- 
ably a  whim  of  Adele's.  You  are  always  looking  for 
the  wherefore,  aren't  you?" 

He  admitted  that  he  was. 

"Even  a  whim,  Helen,  may  be  explained.  It  is  an 
effect,  not  a  cause." 

"Look  out,  Mr.  Metaphysician !"  she  cried,  laying 
a  hand  on  his  arm.  "Don't  you  see  the  mud  puddle 
ahead?" 

They  barely  escaped  a  splashing,  but  Peter  seemed 
unconcerned. 

"Do  you  know,  Helen,"  he  went  on,  as  though  there 
had  been  no  interruption,  "I  am  somehow  interested 
in  those  two  people  we  passed.  They  are  rather 
unique  characters.  I  was  more  than  surprised  to 
hear  Miss  Cressy  bear  her  testimony  this  morning. 
She  seemed  very  much  in  earnest.  Do  you  suppose 
it's  her  respect  for  Leader's  efforts  to  do  right  that 
attracted  her  to  him  to-day?" 

For  some  reason  Helen  did  not  reply.  Presently 
Peter  gave  her  a  puzzled,  comical  look,  but  saw  only 
a  roguish  expression  in  her  eyes.  It  was  not  until 


Religion  find  Love  45 

they  had  stopped  the  car  and  were  reclining  in  the 
shade  that  she  answered  his  question. 

"If  you  promise  to  dismiss  Adele  and  Allan,"  she 
observed,  cautiously,  "I'll  tell  you  something." 

He  eagerly  agreed,  and  was  all  attention. 

"I'm  thinking,  Peter,  that  she  is  trying  to  show 
a  certain  young  and  interesting  man  that  other  young 
men  may  also  have  their  charms/' 

The  Kansan  whistled. 

"Girls  are  peculiar  pieces  of  machinery.  I'm  won- 
dering who  the  other  party  is,  Helen." 

"Are  you  sure  you  don't  know?" 

"Certain." 

"Then  maybe  I  shouldn't  tell  you.  He  will  do  so 
himself — you  know  him  even  better  than  I  do,  al- 
though I  have  known  him  longer  than  you." 

Peter's  eyes  widened. 

"Noel !"  he  exclaimed. 

Helen  nodded.  "Yes,  and  if  you  promise  to  keep 
the  secret  I'll  tell  you  something  else.  Adele's  regard 
for  Noel  is  not  entirely  unreciprocated,"  (Peter 
grinned  at  the  long  word,  but  she  did  not  observe  it.) 
"If  it  were  not  for  Jessie — " 

She  did  not  finish;  probably  because  aware  that 
she  had  plunged  her  companion  into  reverie.  He 
seemed  not  to  notice  that  she  had  broken  off  the 
sentence. 


46  Peter  Bosten 

By  and  by,  though,  a  question  of  hers  gained  the 
attention  of  all  his  faculties. 

"Peter,"  she  asked,  her  lids  falling,  "when  are  you 
going  to  be  baptized?" 


Kindred  Spirits  47 

CHAPTER  III 

KINDRED  SPIRITS 

BUSINESS  transactions  in  Petit  City,  Peter  found, 
were  conducted  precisely  as  they  were  elsewhere. 
Everybody  was  trying  to  make  a  profit  out  of  some- 
body else ;  some  honestly,  others  dishonestly.  There 
were  members  of  Noel's  church  in  this  town  who  did 
not  scruple  to  employ  tricks  and  falsehood  in  their 
quest  of  the  dollar ;  but  Peter  did  not  hold  the  actions 
of  such  against  the  church  and  its  teachings.  He 
knew  there  were  good  and  bad  in  all  denominations. 
Some  men  and  women  would  disgrace  almost  any 
creed. 

Nevertheless,  he  wondered  that  the  members  of 
this  particular  church,  with  its  lofty  ideals  and  con- 
sistent principles,  did  not,  as  a  mass,  come  nearer  to 
the  measure  of  such  men  as  Noel  Crayne.  When 
they  professed  a  belief  in  the  Bible  and  God,  why  did 
they  not  make  good  their  profession  ?  In  their  own 
eyes  they  were  better  than  outsiders,  "the  world." 
Should  not  their  superiority  be  more  clearly  percep- 
tible to  a  disinterested  spectator  like  himself? 

Occasionally  Peter  caught  himself  wishing  that 
the  followers  of  "Noel's  church"  would  live  better 
lives.  He  marveled,  somewhat,  at  the  wish.  What 


48  Peter  Bosten 

did  it  matter  to  him?    Why  should  he  feel  any  more 
sympathy  for  one  sect  than  another? 

His  mind  reverted  to  the  first  young  folks'  prayer 
meeting  he  had  attended.  Again  he  heard  the  ear- 
nest prayers  and  testimonies  of  youths  and  maidens. 
Their  voices  thrilled  him,  as  they  had  done  that 
bright  Sunday  morning.  Why  was  this? 

Always  the  same  answer  came  to  him :  Sincerity. 
These  people  were  honestly  trying  to  pattern  their 
lives  after  the  life  of  the  man  Christ.  There  was  no 
denying  the  fact.  And,  Peter  was  convinced,  they 
were  trying  harder  than  any  denomination  he  had 
ever  known. 

Of  course,  he  did  not  attribute  their  sincerity  to 
their  faith.  He  believed  they  were  what  they  were 
because  of  the  mind-and-matter  influences  that  lay 
behind  them,  far  back  in  the  past;  and  that  they 
could  surrender  their  creed  without  spiritual  loss. 
But  how  should  he  explain  the  phenomenon  of  such 
universal  sincerity,  which  existed  regardless,  it 
seemed,  of  mental  status?  Thus  he  answered  him- 
self: The  influence  of  strong,  noble  minds  upon 
weaker  ones. 

The  dishonest,  half-striving  members  here  in  Petit 
City  were  weak.  Their  sincerity  was  not  of  the 
highest  quality,  perhaps,  but  it  corresponded  with  the 


Kindred  Spirits  49 

measure  of  their  manhood  and  womanhood.    These 
were  helped  along  by  the  stronger  characters. 

Here,  Peter  reflected,  was  the  great  argument  for 
congregating.  Nor  had  he  ever  heard  of  a  church 
laying  such  stress  upon  material  and  spiritual  coop- 
eration as  this  one.  Petit  City  itself  was  a  concrete 
example.  They  called  it  and  the  surrounding  coun- 
try a  sacred  spot.  They  believed  the  time  would 
come  when  they  should  have  a  splendid  temple  on 
the  Temple  Lot.  They  came  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth  to  this  corner  of  Missouri,  because  of  their 
faith  in  the  advantages  of  cooperation.  They  were 
not  like  many  other  such  communities,  however. 
They  retained  their  individual  rights  and  posses- 
sions, and  their  interest  in  their  less  fortunate  broth- 
ers was  purely  voluntary.  They  believed  in  human 
free  agency,  under  the  direction  of  "God's  Spirit,"  as 
they  termed  the  guiding  influence;  and  used  their 
reasoning  faculties  more  than  any  other  religionists 
Peter  had  known.  Of  course,  as  he  viewed  it,  they 
were  greatly  hampered  by  their  illusions  concerning 
something  of  which  they  really  knew  nothing;  but 
not  so  much  as  other  sects.  And  they  had  the  advan- 
tage of  being  consistent,  in  their  belief,  with  the 
teachings  of  the  Bible;  believing  not  in  a  modern 
God,  "without  body,  parts  or  passions,"  but  in  the 


50  Peter  Bosten 

living  God  of  the  Hebrews,  and  in  Christ  as  the  liv- 
ing flesh-and-blood  Son  of  God. 

The  Kansan  enjoyed  life  in  Petit  City  because  of 
the  very  influence  exercised  by  these  two  or  more 
thousand  members  of  Noel's  church.  Like  himself 
they  were  idealists.  He  had  a  fellow  feeling  for 
them.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  intellectual  interest 
he  took  in  their  affairs,  their  dreams  and  sweet  il- 
lusions, he  believed  he  would  never  have  remained  in 
the  city. 

But  stay, — there  was  Helen.  Yet,  was  not  she,  too, 
one  of  Noel's  sisters?  Moreover,  might  not  his  in- 
terest in  her  be,  in  some  measure,  associated  with 
his  regard  for  Noel  and  the  church?  Peter  could 
not  be  sure.  Of  one  thing  he  was  sure,  though :  he 
loved  her  and  would  gladly  give  up  bookkeeping  to 
engage  in  heaving  coal, — should  anyone  demonstrate 
that  coal-heavers  found  themselves  in  a  position  to 
marry  at  twenty- four. 

Work  in  the  office  was  irksome  to  the  Kansan.  He 
likened  himself  to  an  ant  crawling  around  a  dusty 
floor;  a  thing  of  infinitesimal  consequence.  What 
earthly  sense  was  there  in  keeping  accounts  and 
typewriting  letters?  From  the  employer's  view,  per- 
haps, it  was  rational.  It  was  money  the  employer 
was  after,  and  in  order  to  get  it  he  must  keep  books 
and  send  out  accounts.  But  from  the  standpoint  of 


Kindred  Spirits  51 

the  bookkeeper,  what  was  there  to  it?  The  employee 
was  after  what? 

"Success,"  society  answered. 

"And  what  is  success?" 

"A  home,  a  wife,  a  family  and  an  income." 

"But,"  objects  Peter,  "I  fail  to  see  where  twelve 
dollars  per  week  brings  these  fairy-like  possessions 
any  nearer  to  me.  Consider  what  I  give  up  for  this 
salary?  I  surrender  ten  hours  of  the  day,  the  strain 
of  which  obliges  me  to  waste  my  evenings  in  phys- 
ical recreation.  I  give  up  my  old  friends,  the  books, 
and  backslide  intellectually  and  every  other  way  as 
inevitably  as  the  hands  of  the  clock  move  forward." 

Society  could  not  reply  to  this  statement  of  fact 
with  anything  resembling  logic.  But  still  Peter  did 
not  quit  his  position.  He  crushed  down  his  ambition 
because  of  his  love.  It  was  the  old  story  of  Cupid's 
domination.  To  move  away  from  Petit  City  would 
be  to  separate  himself  from  Helen — and  Noel.  He 
could  endure  to  think  of  leaving  the  latter,  much  as 
he  loved  him ;  but  not  the  former. 

As  he  walked  in  the  direction  of  Bishop  Garner's 
office  now,  on  a  business  errand  for  his  firm,  the 
Kansan  discussed  his  situation  for  the  second  time 
this  morning.  In  his  heart  he  knew  that  he  could 
never  become  vitally  interested  in  business.  Its 
smallness  and  its  trickery  nauseated  him.  In  the 


52  Peter  Bosten 

business  environment  he  breathed  dust  instead  of 
Nature's  free  air,  and  looked  through  a  sickly  haze 
of  money-mist  upon  a  twisted  world.  There  was  no 
sunshine;  there  were  no  wings.  One  walked  about 
with  leaden  feet  and  heavy  eyes,  gazing  stupidly 
upon  the  earth  instead  of  into  the  heavens. 

Peter  felt  in  his  soul  that  one  day  he  would  revolt, 
and  then  there  would  be  no  going  back.  It  was  this 
conviction,  no  doubt,  that  made  him  feel  uncertain 
of  Helen's  love. 

He  might  continue  to  look  about  him  for  a  better 
place,  he  mused.  Some  one  might  happen  to  die  and 
leave  a  desirable  vacancy  somewhere.  Fate  might 
just  favor  him  in  some  such  manner.  But  even  then, 
what  would  the  outcome  be?  Could  he  be  happy, 
could  he  fulfill  his  mission  on  earth,  (Peter  had  al- 
ways felt  that  he  existed  for  some  definite  purpose : 
a  nobler  one,  too,  than  would  satisfy  most  of  his 
fellows)  ;  could  he  give  back  to  Helen  what  he  had 
taken  from  her — with  the  constant  burden  of  a  soul- 
crushing  vocation  upon  him  ?  While  groveling  in  the 
dust  of  business  could  he  soar  with  her  o'er  the 
upper  planes?  Or  would  he  not  daily  see  her  spirit 
wilt,  with  his  own,  cramped  and  suffocated  by  a 
sordid  environment,  as  he  had  known  it  to  happen  to 
many  idealists? 

Peter  knew  he  was  what  practical  ones  called  a 


Kindred  Spirits  53 

"dreamer,"  and  that  what  satisfied  the  majority  of 
men  would  never  satisfy  him.  Nor  did  he  consider 
it  sensible  to  ignore  this  fact.  He  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  ignoring  facts.  The  only  way  to  deal  with 
them  was  to  face  them.  He  knew,  too,  that  Helen 
Dyke  was  a  dreamer.  Her  mind  dwelt  above  the 
dust.  Then  why  deceive  himself  into  hoping  that 
they  could  ever  find  happiness  and  usefulness  to- 
gether in  the  ordinary  channels  of  living? 

Another  thing  made  him  uncertain  as  to  the  out- 
come of  his  love.  Their  difference  of  faith.  He  re- 
called the  beginning  of  their  arguments — her  asking 
him,  several  months  before,  when  he  intended  to  be 
baptized.  He  could  not  forget  the  look  of  disap- 
pointment that  had  come  over  her  face  when  he  ex- 
plained his  views.  A  coldness  had  crept  between 
them ;  and  yet  he  could  scarcely  call  it  that.  It  was 
a  psychological  barrier,  but  one  that  sometimes  broke 
down,  for  a  while,  under  the  impact  of  natural  pas- 
sion-bursts. But  each  time  Helen  had  recovered 
herself :  instead  of  weakening  her  position  these  re- 
actions seemed  to  strengthen  it. 

There  was  a  group  of  men,  "missionaries"  Peter 
knew  them  to  be,  standing  in  front  of  the  bishop's 
office.  It  was  within  a  few  days  of  General  Con- 
ference— a  convention  that  had  prevailed  in  the 
church  for  half  a  century.  Preachers  and  delegates 


54  Peter  Bosten 

came  from  Britain,  Canada,  Australia,  Germany,  all 
parts  of  America  and  even  the  South  Seas  to  attend 
this  conference. 

Peter's  business  necessitated  a  personal  interview 
with  Bishop  Garner;  and  for  the  first  time  he  had 
the  pleasure  of  appraising  the  bishop's  personality. 

He  was  a  man  of  simple,  quiet  speech,  and  kindly 
mien.  One  felt  at  home  in  his  presence.  He  did  not 
swell  and  expostulate,  as  the  Kansan  had  feared 
bishops  might  do;  but  talked  to  the  point,  even  in- 
jecting a  joke;  and  ended,  as  his  habit  was,  with  a 
sincere  good  wish. 

The  office  was  half  filled  with  preachers;  strong- 
faced  men  mostly.  It  was  evident  that  this  annual 
meeting  was  the  joy  of  their  lives.  For  months, 
perhaps  years,  they  carried  their  gospel  into  distant 
places,  struggling  against  prejudice  and  poverty, 
looking  forward  firstly  to  heaven  and  secondly  to 
General  Conference.  And  when  they  got  together 
they  reveled  in  intellectual  and  social  joys. 

Peter  half  envied  them.  Certainly  he  respected 
them.  They  were  idealists  all;  but  idealists  who 
would  not  countenance  defeat.  The  last  thing  in  the 
world  they  thought  of  was  money :  Money,  the  thing 
for  which  the  majority  of  men  damned  themselves 
and  each  other.  They  believed  in  certain  principles, 
and  these  principles  they  preached,  in  highways  and 


Kindred  Spirits  55 

byways,  in  suffering  and  sacrifice.  Naught  really 
mattered  to  them  but  their  gospel  and  the  salvation 
of  the  human  family. 

Peter  went  back  to  his  office  disgusted  with  him- 
self. Whether  these  missionaries  were  right  or 
wrong,  they  were  stronger  men  than  he.  They  did 
not  compromise  with  selfishness  and  pleasure.  They 
left  their  homes  and  loved  ones  to  obey  the  message 
of  their  Christ:  "Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach 
the  gospel  to  every  creature." 

Peter  temporarily  forgot  his  own  affairs  in  think- 
ing of  the  lives  of  these  followers  of  Noel's  religion. 
All  day  his  mind  dwelt  upon  them;  and  when  he 
arrived  home  for  supper  he  found  a  further  collec- 
tion of  them  enjoying  Mrs.  Crayne's  hospitality. 

The  company  was  just  beginning  the  meal  when 
the  Kansan  entered.  Noel  apologized  to  him  for  not 
waiting,  then  introduced  him  to  the  five  guests. 

Peter  studied  them  'as  he  ate  in  silence,  and  soon 
decided  that  they  were  remarkable  types.  There 
were  an  Englishman,  with  flashing  black  eyes  and  an 
eloquent  tongue ;  a  Yankee,  with  an  intellectual  fore- 
head and  a  Puritanic  mien ;  a  Scotch-Canadian,  who 
spoke  well-thought-out  words  and  rolled  his  "r's"; 
and  two  Westerners,  Rollins  and  Chapman :  the  for- 
mer evidently  fond  of  hearing  his  own  voice;  the 


56  Peter  Bosten 

latter  a  rough-and-ready,  Buffalo-Bill  sort  of  indi- 
vidual, full  of  wit  and  laughter. 

Peter  decided  that  he  liked  all  of  them,  with  the 
exception  of  Rollins.  Rollins  struck  him  as  being 
insincere ;  although  he  was  mild  of  speech  and  had 
a  certain  pleasing  manner,  his  voice  did  not  ring 
true. 

The  Kansan  expected  to  hear  a  theological  dis- 
cussion, for  here  were  men  from  important  places 
in  the  church,  who  did  not  meet  each  other  very 
often  and  must  have  ideas  to  exchange.  But  they 
did  not  touch  upon  religion  at  all.  Instead,  they 
discussed  the  questions  of  the  day ;  politics,  national 
and  international ;  science,  invention,  and  literature. 
Peter  was  surprised  and  delighted  with  their  breadth 
of  vision.  He  secretly  hailed  them  as  brothers,  in 
spite  of  their  religious  views.  They  were  men  of 
ideals  and  ideas ;  dreamers,  but  active  dreamers ; 
thinkers  and  doers.  But,  best  of  all,  they  took  them- 
selves seriously. 

Peter  had  no  patience  with  that  school  of  egotists 
who  ridiculed  the  serious-minded.  Was  not  life  a 
serious  matter?  If  not,  then  why  not  be  done  with 
it  as  quickly  as  possible ;  perform  the  one  consistent 
act  of  suicide? 

Mr.  Chapman  amused  himself  by  poking  fun  at 
Mr.  Rollins,  while  the  Englishman  and  the  Scotch- 


Kindred  Spirits  57 

Canadian  debated  a  matter  of  British  Imperial 
policy.  Needless  to  say  Peter  followed  the  latter. 
Once  he  caught  a  somewhat  cynical  smile  on  the 
Yankee's  face,  and  wondered  at  it.  Later  he  was 
enlightened  when  this  descendant  of  Puritans  con- 
demned royalty  and  imperialism  in  such  pointed 
phrases  that  both  the  other  controversialists  came 
to  a  full  stop  and  generously  admitted  their  inability 
to  answer  him. 

The  Yankee  then  reminded  his  brothers  that  they 
were  ignoring  certain  members  of  the  company, 
whereat  the  big  Canadian,  Murdoch,  rolled  out  an 
apology  and  hurled  a  question  at  the  speechless  Kan- 
san. 

"I  take  it  you  are  a  Missourian,  Mr.  Bosten,"  he 
said.  "What  do  you  think  of  the  Kansas  agricultural 
and  prohibition  movements?" 

Peter  explained  that  he  was  a  Kansan,  and  put  his 
views  on  the  questions  mentioned  into  concise  form. 
Immediately,  he  discovered,  he  had  the  attention  of 
all  present.  Even  Rollins  looked  interested. 

But  in  the  course  of  his  remarks  he  made  a  state- 
ment involving  the  charge  of  overzeal,  and  it  was 
mildly  challenged  by  the  Englishman. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  "that  we  can  be  too 
zealous  in  a  good  cause?" 

"Well,"  said  Peter,  "our  very  zeal  itself  may  per- 


58  Peter  Bosten 

vert  the  goodness,  and  then  the  cause  is  a  bad  one." 

The  Canadian  voiced  a  laugh  similar  to  Noel's, 
and  with  a  smile  the  Yankee  asked  for  a  clearer 
elucidation  of  the  point. 

"Take  the  cause  of  Christianity,  for  instance/' 
Peter  went  onx,  aware  that  he  was  throwing  down  the 
gauntlet  against  big  odds.  "For  argument's  sake 
we  will  admit  it  is  a  worthy  one.  You  gentlemen 
believe  it  is;  and  so  do  I,  though  I  leave  the  divine 
out  of  it.  Now,  has  not  the  zeal  of  its  advocates,  ac- 
cording to  the  teachings  of  your  church,  resulted  in 
innumerable  human  additions  to  and  subtractions 
from  the  original  gospel  of  Christ?" 

The  Canadian  deferred  to  the  Englishman. 

"I  grant  you  that,"  said  the  latter.  "But  I  ask 
you  what  was  the  nature  of  this  zeal?" 

"Religious,"  was  the  instant  reply. 

"And  what  do  you  mean  by  'religious/  may  I  ask?" 
the  Yankee,  Fraser,  put  in. 

"Affecting  man's  conduct  before  a  supposed  Cre- 
ator," Peter  defined.  "And  since  man  interprets  this 
conduct  according  to  his  own  mind,  it  differs  as  the 
minds  of  men  differ.  In  other  words,  man  makes  his 
religion,  and,  naturally,  makes  it  to  please  himself. 
Moreover,  if  his  zeal  in  this  creed^making  is  stronger 
than  his  human  desire  to  deal  justly  with  his  fellow 
creatures,  he  will  do  great  damage — yet  be  unaware 


Kindred  Spirits  59 

of  it  because  of  the  abnormal  condition  of  his  mind. 
I  refer  you  to  the  Inquisition  and  other  diabolical 
feats  of  so-called  children  of  God." 

Noel's  face  was  glowing  with  interest,  and  he  gave 
Peter  an  encouraging  smile.  Mrs.  Crayne,  too,  was 
greatly  pleased.  It  was  their  belief  that  so  long  as 
a  nonmember  encouraged  legitimate  argument  there 
was  hope  for  him. 

Three  of  the  missionaries  exchanged  smiles  indi- 
cating intellectual  appreciation.  They  even  included 
the  Kansan  in  their  approving  glances. 

"Go  after  him,  Roland,"  said  Murdoch  to  the 
Yankee,  grinning  good-naturedly. 

"Mr.  Bosten" — the  Easterner  instantly  acted  on 
the  hint, — "I'm  going  to  take  sides  with  you.  Hu- 
man zeal  is  a  foolish  thing,  very  often.  My  brothers 
here  have  been  leading  you  on :  they  believe  as  you 
do.  The  point  that  remains  to  be  made  is  this: 
without  the  love  and  understanding  of  the  Spirit  of 
God  in  our  hearts,  our  activities  are  in  vain.  This 
church  meets  the  world  on  that  very  issue.  And  as 
you  are  evidently  a  logician  I  will  not  beat  about  the 
bush.  We  believe  the  fullness  of  God's  Spirit  is  ob- 
tainable in  only  one  way :  by  obeying  his  gospel." 

Peter  nodded  understandingly.        ^ 

"There  is  where  I  admire  you  people,"  he  de- 
clared. "You  do  not  equivocate,  but  boldly  assert 


60  Peter  Bosten 

your  convictions;  and  I  must  say,  if  a  man  believes 
the  Scriptures  he  must  heed  your  claims.  I  think 
your  church  preaches  the  nearest  thing  to  real  re- 
ligion that  I  know.  You  claim  that  the  gospel  has 
been  restored  to  earth,  by  miraculous  means;  that 
miracles  still  continue,  and  that  God  is  unchange- 
able. There  you  render  other  sects  inconsistent. 
You  have  the  organization  of  the  Christ  church, 
apostles  and  all;  and  in  innumerable  ways  you  are 
consistent  with  those  principles  which  you  claim  to 
be  eternal  and  changeless.  But  you  see,  I  do  not 
accept  any  religion  at  all;  I  reject  the  Bible  as  the 
poetical  record  of  an  egotistical  race ;  I  do  not  believe 
in  prayer.  In  fact,  I  am  what  they  call  an  agnostic. 
Now,  what  I  want  to  know  is  this :  What  do  you  do 
with  an  individual  like  myself?  If  your  church  can 
not  dispose  of  me,  none  can." 

Mr.  Chapman  drawled  out  a  reply;  but  twinkling 
eyes  belied  his  sober  face. 

"My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "you  are  damned  beyond 
all  hope.    Fire  and  brimstone  await  you." 

The  Puritan  laughed  outright,  for  the  first  time. 

"Do  be  serous,  Chapman,"  he  begged.    "Answer 
Mr.  Bosten  yourself.    I  don't  believe  you  can." 

A  fighting  light  illuminated  the  old  veteran's  face, 
and  ignoring  his  brothers  he  turned  to  the  Kansan. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "your  views  may  strike  you 


Kindred  Spirits  61 

as  being  original,  but  believe  me  they  are  as  old  as 
the  hills."    The  speaker  paused,  and  Peter  put  in: 

"But  their  age  is  not  an  argument  against  their 
logic." 

"True."  The  Westerner  opened  his  eyes  wider. 
"Say,"  he  smiled,  "you  have  a  keen  brain,  by  George 
you  have !"  Turning  to  Noel.  "Where  did  you  pick 
him  up,  Noel?" 

Peter  was  not  in  the  least  offended  by  this  remark. 
He  knew  the  ways  of  such  pioneers  as  Mr.  Chapman ; 
knew  that  beneath  their  crude  surface  precious  gold 
was  often  found. 

"He  comes  from  a  Kansas  farm,"  replied  Noel, 
glancing  at  his  friend. 

"That  accounts  for  it,"  said  Chapman.  "But  com- 
ing back  to  the  point,  Mr.  Bosten.  What  I  wanted  to 
say,  when  you  tripped  me  up,  was  that  there  is  no 
way  of  answering  what  we  call  an  infidel.  Those 
who  believe  in  Christ  and  those  who  do  not,  talk 
different  languages.  Spiritual  things  are  spiritually 
discerned;  and  they  are  not  comprehensible  to  the 
carnal  mind." 

"But,"  Peter  objected,  "religionists  have  done  un- 
speakable things  on  that  same  hypothesis,  since  the 
beginning  of  time.  The  Buddhist  mother  sacrifices 
her  child  to  the  flames.  When  we  rationalists  object, 


62  Peter  Bosten 

on  humanitarian  grounds,  the  only  answer  we  get  is 
a  metaphysical  one." 

The  Westerner  whistled,  good-humoredly. 

"Brother  Rexton,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  Brit- 
isher, "I  turn  him  over  to  you.  He's  a  psychologist : 
and  I  never  went  beyond  public  school  myself." 

Mr.  Rexton  showed  no  signs  of  gratification  at 
being  thus  appealed  to.  His  eyes  became  more  seri- 
ous as  he  looked  frankly  at  the  nonbeliever. 

"We  all  have  finite  minds,  Mr.  Bosten."  He  spoke 
pensively.  "We  can  not  find  out  God  by  digging  in 
the  earth  with  these  hands  of  clay  or  peering  into 
limitless  space  with  these  mortal  eyes.  We  must 
have  faith." 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Rexton,"  Peter  interrupted,  "but 
you  must  remember  that  what  is  argument  to  a  re- 
ligionist is  mere  assumption  to  me.  You  have  made 
an  unproved  assertion." 

The  apostle,  for  such  he  was  in  that  church, 
nodded. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "You  are  right. 
But  nevertheless  it  is  all  I  can  do.  As  Brother  Chap- 
man remarked,  your  school  and  mine  speak  in  dif- 
ferent tongues.  I  only  know  that  once  I,  too,  thought 
as  you  do.  But  when  I  heard  the  gospel  it  appealed 
to  me,  I  was  going  to  say,  almost  against  my  reason ; 
and  the  more  I  know  of  it  the  better  I  love  it.  I 


Kindred  Spirits  68 

know  that  I  am  but  a  child  in  it  yet;  but  it  offers 
endless  opportunities  for  advancement;  moral,  in- 
tellectual, spiritual.  And  I  hope  I  may  live  to  bring 
many  honest  hearts  into  it." 

Peter  was  silent.  As  he  had,  so  many  times  be- 
fore when  Noel  was  speaking,  experienced  a  peculiar 
thrill,  so  did  he  now.  He  explained  it  to  himself 
thus :  The  sincerity  of  these  people  is  overwhelming. 
I  love  them  for  it.  Yet,  as  the  universe  is  my  wit- 
ness, I  can  not  believe  as  they  do.  This  thrill  I  feel 
in  their  presence  is  a  human  emotion,  which  I  can 
not  comprehend  any  more  than  I  comprehend  my 
love  for  Helen.  One  day,  perhaps,  everything  will 
be  understandable  to  me. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  respecting  them  for  the  si- 
lence they  had  maintained  awaiting  his  reply,  "I 
believe  you  are  all  honorable  men,  and  therefore  I 
admire  you.  But  our  minds  have  not  been  cast  in 
the  same  mold,  I  am  afraid.  Maybe  we  shall  see 
things  more  clearly  in  the  next  state  of  being,  what- 
ever it  shall  be." 

Peter  chanced  to  look  toward  Mrs.  Crayne,  and 
was  surprised  to  see  a  tear  in  her  eye.  She  brushed 
it  away  embarrassedly,  and  passed  Mr.  Rollins  the 
sugar. 

Although  the  Kansan  felt  that  it  must  be  apparent 
to  these  lights  of  the  church  that  they  had  been 


64  Peter  Bosten 

worsted  in  argument,  he  was  aware  of  no  coldness 
or  "ecclesiastical  suspicion"  (he  coined  the  phrase 
on  the  moment,  thinking  of  disputes  with  certain 
professors  in  a  Kansas  university),  on  their  part. 
Rather,  he  realized  that  his  sentiments  had  made 
these  missionaries  his  friends.  In  spite  of  their 
belief  that  he  was  groping  in  the  dark,  they  treated 
him  as  a  peer ;  and  he  could  read  in  their  very  man- 
ner a  charitable  desire  to  free  him  from  the  bonds 
of  doubt  and  make  him  a  brother  in  spirit. 

Peter  meditated  on  this  disposition  toward  "out- 
siders" that  characterized  great  and  small  in  Noel's 
church.  The  faith  of  fools  and  religious  humbugs 
might  be  a  detestable,  a  disastrous  thing;  but  what 
of  this  brand  of  faith,  exemplified  in  the  lives  of 
Noel's  "brothers,"  so  generously  mixed  with  religious 
toleration  and  "Christian"  charity?  Might  there 
not,  after  all,  be  something  to  it?  And  if  there  were, 
how  far  from  the  truth  must  he,  Peter  Bosten,  be! 

After  supper  the  Canadian  missionary  drew  him 
aside. 

"I  promise  not  to  involve  you  in  any  long  discus- 
sion," he  apologized ;  "but  I'm  really  curious  to  know, 
Mr.  Bosten,  how  you  got  started  thinking  along  the 
lines  you  do." 

"Well,"  the  Kansan  answered,  "it  would  be  hard 
to  say;  but  I'm  afraid  the  notorious  Voltaire  was 


Kindred  Spirits  65 

one  of  my  early  inspirations.  I  shall  always  remem- 
ber a  quotation  he  makes  from  Aristotle :  Incredulity 
is  the  foundation  of  all  knowledge.'  Don't  you  think 
that  is  a  logical  statement?  It  has  always  guided 
me." 

Murdoch  repeated  it  in  an  undertone. 

"I  am  familiar  with  the  sentiment/'  he  replied, 
"but  not  the  phrasing.  Yes,  from  a  purely  human 
viewpoint  it  is  convincing.  But  it  ignores  the  di- 
vine." 

"The  point  of  separation — divinity,"  said  Peter. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  Canadian;  "that's  it.  The 
dividing  line." 

One  of  the  other  preachers  approached  Peter.  It 
was  Rollins. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  half  playfully,  "if  I  were 
you  I'd  go  to  God  in  prayer  and  ask  him  for  light." 

For  the  first  time  in  the  evening  the  Kansan  felt 
resentment.  He  knew  now,  definitely,  that  he  did 
not  like  this  man. 

"Mr.  Rollins,"  he  replied,  "why  ask  God  for  light 
when  I  have  his  servants  here  to  inform  me?  I 
noticed  you  didn't  take  up  any  of  my  challenges  at 
the  table." 

Color  crept  into  the  missionary's  face. 

"I  always  defer  to  those  in  higher  authority,"  he 
said.  "It  is  the  only  way  to  do  in  this  world.  I 


66  Peter  Bosten 

recommend  such  action  to  all  those,  especially,  who 
set  themselves  up  as  judges  of  what  is  holy." 

Peter  moved  away  from  this  gentleman,  who 
seemed  a  more  conventional  member  of  that  body, 
the  clergy,  than  any  preacher  of  Noel's  church  thus 
far  encountered. 

When  the  guests  had  gone,  Mrs.  Crayne  busied 
herself  with  the  dishes,  refusing  to  allow  the  boys 
to  help  her ;  and  Noel  and  Peter  sought  their  favorite 
seats  on  the  veranda.  Not  to  smoke  and  peruse  the 
sporting  extra,  as  a  hundred  young  men  were  doing 
on  the  same  street;  but  to  enjoy  each  other's  conver- 
sation, and,  maybe,  take  one  of  their  accustomed 
flights  above  the  smoke  and  dust  of  earth. 

Noel  was  anxious  to  know  how  his  friend  liked 
the  visitors.  Peter  was  giving  an  interested,  per- 
sonal analysis  of  each  when  a  figure  passed  down 
the  walk,  distracting  Noel's  attention. 

For  several  minutes  thereafter  the  Missourian  was 
distraught,  and  Peter  recalled  what  Helen  had  told 
him  on  one  of  their  motor  excursions. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Noel?" 

The  remark  startled  the  dreamer  out  of  his  dream, 
and  he  faced  >a  malicious  grin. 

"And  I  want  the  truth,  remember,"  Peter  per- 
sisted. 

Noel  did  something  decidedly  original — for  him. 


Kindred  Spirits  67 

He  glanced  around  to  make  sure  no  one  should  wit- 
ness his  act,  then  drew  his  chair  closer  to  the  Kan- 
san's. 

"Peter,"  he  said,  in  an  undertone,  "you  are  a 
clear-eyed  fellow.  Tell  me,  what  do  you  think  of 
Adele  Cressy?" 

It  was  she  who  had  just  passed.  The  Kansan 
coughed  comically. 

"Do  you  want  my  worst  opinion  or  my  best?" 

"Both." 

"All  right.  Here  goes.  Noel,  she  has  always  been 
something  of  a  puzzle  to  me.  I  have  watched  her 
in  the  choir  and  in  prayer  meetings.  I  have  studied 
the  glances  she  has  bestowed  on  you — now  don't  get 
excited.  You  know  about  them  as  well  as  I  do.  And 
can  you  guess  my  worst  criticism  of  her?" 

The  Missourian  shook  his  head  and  waited. 

"It's  this :  she  is  inclined  to  be  a  coquette." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?" 

"I  think  so,  although  I'm  not  quite  sure.  You 
didn't  ask  for  facts,  you  know:  just  an  opinion.  And 
the  best  thing  I  can  say  about  her  is — " 

He  paused. 

"Yes?"  said  Noel,  eagerly. 

" — that  she's  in  love  with  you,"  Peter  finished, 
facetiously. 

They  called  each  other  uncomplimentary  things 


68  Peter  Bosten 

until  epithets  had  lost  their  edge ;  after  which  Noel 
made  a  singular  confession.  It  had  almost  escaped 
him  a  score  of  times.  Now  it  came  out. 

"It  may  be  an  unmanly  thing  to  say,  Peter,  but — 
well,  I  wouldn't  tell  anybody  on  earth  but  you.  I 
feel  sure  that  I  love  Jessie  and  that  one  day  we  shall 
marry.  But  in  spite  of  this  conviction,  when  Adele 
Cressy  comes  near  me  I  get  all  excited,  and,  in  short, 
act  like  a  species  of  lunatic.  I  can't  explain  it." 

"Doesn't  Jessie  affect  you  like  that,  too?" 

"No,  she  doesn't.  I  have  a  happy,  peaceful,  se- 
cure feeling  with  her — until  Adele  comes  along.  And 
then  I  become  abnormal — yes,  it  is  not  a  normal  sen- 
sation, surely." 

"I'll  bet  I  know  how  you  explain  it  to  yourself, 
Noel." 

"How?" 

"You  say  that  your  passion  for  Adele  is  physical, 
and  that  for  Jessie  spiritual." 

"Exactly!    How  ever  did  you  guess  it?" 

"Because  I  know  you — and  your  religious  broth- 
ers. I  refer  to  the  members  of  your  church.  By 
Jove!  you  are  a  wonderful  lot,  I've  got  to  admit  it. 
Noel,  if  you  belonged  to  any  other  denomination  I'd 
predict  that  you  would  forsake  Jessie  for  Adele.  The 
question  of  religious  duty  would  have  no  weight 
with  you ;  or  little,  at  any  rate.  But  I  am  just  as 


Kindred  Spirits  69 

sure  you  will  marry  Jessie  as  I  am  that  you  are  a 
man  in  a  million.  It  is  inevitable." 

The  Missourian  looked  long  and  bewilderedly  at 
his  friend. 

"Peter,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  thank  God  we  ever 
met." 

But  the  Kansan  seemed  not  to  hear.  He  was  think- 
ing- of  Helen  Dyke  and  of  her  allegiance  to  her  faith ; 
wondering  whither  his  own  love  would  tend,  and 
longing  vainly  for  the  impossible. 


70  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  IV 

THE  DIVIDING  LINE 

IT  WAS  on  the  morning  of  the  sixth  of  April  that 
Peter  met  President  Milton  Stern,  the  head  of  the 
church.  The  Kansan  was  standing  on  the  stone  steps 
of  the  white  stone  edifice  with  Noel,  admiring  the 
Temple  Lot,  pink  with  peach  blossoms,  when  a  large, 
loosely-garbed  figure  approached;  shouting,  before 
he  reached  them : 

"Hello  there  Noel,  old  boy !    How  goes  the  battle?" 

The  man  had  halted,  to  pick  up  something,  and 
taking  his  friend  by  the  sleeve  Noel  cried :  "Come  on, 
Peter,  and  let's  stop  him  before  he  enters  the  church. 
I  want  you  to  meet  him." 

Mr.  Stern  said  to  Peter,  as  they  shook  hands,  that 
he  was  glad  to  make  his  acquaintance ;  and  Peter  be- 
lieved it.  But  one  thing  was  hard  to  believe:  that 
this  was  the  president  of  a  church  with  a  member- 
ship close  to  one  hundred  thousand ;  or  the  president 
of  any  church,  for  that  matter. 

While  the  other  two  conversed  Peter  stood  aside 
and  appraised  Mr.  Stern.  He  was  over  six  feet  tall, 
broad-shouldered,  athletic.  His  hair  needed  cutting, 
his  suit  needed  pressing  and  his  shoes  a  shine.  Yet 
he  did  not  look  in  the  least  uncouth.  Certainly  he 
was  a  Westerner.  The  smell  of  the  loam  hovered 


The  Dividing  Line  71 

about  him.  One  would  not  have  been  surprised  to 
see  a  bird  come,  any  minute,  and  perch  on  his  shoul- 
der. 

Contrary  to  his  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  Peter 
found  himself  thinking  of  heroes  in  Western  dramas. 
They  were  not  so  overdrawn  after  all.  He  remem- 
bered, particularly,  the  play  which  foreign  critics 
pronounced  the  greatest  American  drama:  "The 
Great  Divide."  Here  was  the  flesh  and  blood  of  that 
story ;  not  a  New  York  actor  dressed  up  to  look  like 
the  real  thing,  but  the  real  thing  itself.  Peter  could 
still  feel  the  rough  pressure  of  his  large  hand,  essen- 
tially a  hand  of  toil,  whatever  form  that  toil  might 
take. 

"You  are  in  a  hurry,  Brother  Stern,"  said  Noel, 
"I  won't  keep  you." 

"Brother  Stern,"  Peter  murmured.  "They  call 
him  brother!" 

"All  right,  Noel.  I'll  see  you  again.  And  you,  too, 
Mr.  Bosten." 

The  name  had  not  escaped  him.  He  turned  his 
eyes  upon  the  Kansan  and  smiled.  They  were  full, 
penetrating  eyes,  set  in  a  large,  almost  pugnacious 
face.  But  the  smile  moderated  the  pugnacity — there 
was  something  decidedly  boyish  about  it. 

Noel  glanced  at  his  friend  when  the  president  had 
disappeared. 


72  Peter  Bosten 

"Well,  Peter,  how  does  he  strike  you?" 

"By  Jove!"  was  the  reply,  "I'd  hate  to  have  him 
do  it.  But  say,  Noel,  are  you  sure  this  is  really 
President  Stern  ?  I  can't  get  over  it." 

Noel  chuckled;  pleased  that  Peter  was  impressed. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"Nothing.  Nothing.  That's  the  trouble.  He 
ought  to  be  sad-looking  or  gray-haired  or  lame.  But 
he's  as  fit  as  a  prize  fighter.  He's  boyish.  He's 
jolly.  Why,  he's  the  very  kind  of  a  pal  I'd  want  on 
a  long  hobo  trip.  He'd  help  you  clean  up  on  a  posse, 
and  then  sit  down  with  you  and  philosophize  on  it. 
For  he's  a  philosopher;  you  can  read  it  in  his  eyes. 
Those  are  strange  eyes  of  his,  Noel.  They're  hyp- 
notic— do  you  know  that?  And  I'll  wager  he's  got 
a  memory  a  mile  long." 

Peter  paused  a  moment,  but  began  again  the  mo- 
ment Noel  opened  his  mouth. 

"I'm  glad  I  met  him,  mighty  glad.  President  Stern 
is  a  man  clear  through.  I  like  him ;  you  bet  I  like 
him. ...  He  seems  to  think  a  whole  lot  of  you,  Noel?" 

"Not  necessarily.    He's  that  way  with  everyone." 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  don't  believe  you.  He  may  be 
tolerant ;  but  I  can  imagine  him  eating  some  of  these 
little  Christians  of  yours  here  alive." 

"Why,  Peter!"  exclaimed  the  Missourian,  "that's 


The  Dividing  Line  73 

the  first  hard  thing  Pve  heard  you  say  about  any  of 
our  people." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  if  it  sounds  hard,  Noel.  But 
somehow  or  other  Mr.  Stern  makes  most  of  these 
other  brothers  of  yours  look  small  by  contrast.  I 
guess  I  am  thinking  of  that  fellow  Rollins.  I  don't 
like  him.  Do  you?" 

But  Noel  evaded  the  question.  The  only  time  he 
ever  proved  evasive  was  in  such  an  instance  as  this : 
where  the  interests  of  person  and  not  principle  were 
involved.  Peter  sat  down  on  the  steps,  pensively. 

"We'll  have  to  move,"  his  friend  observed,  pres- 
ently. "Conference  convenes  this  morning,  you 
know,  and  the  crowds  will  soon  be  pouring  in." 

"Yes,"  the  Kansan  agreed.  "This  is  the  big  day. 
I'm  glad  I'm  here,  Noel.  It  will  be  an  experience 
for  me." 

"It  may  convert  you,"  grinned  the  Missourian. 

"Anything  is  possible,  I  suppose,"  Peter  returned, 
queerly.  "The  President  may  even  challenge  me  to 
a  wrestling  match  if  I  refuse  to  become  a  member." 

"It  wouldn't  be  the  first  bout  of  the  kind  for  him, 
either.  In  his  youthful  days  he  was  champion  of  all 
the  sports." 

"Sounds  like  fiction,"  Peter  murmured,  thinking 
of  the  intensely  spiritual  nature  of  this  church's  doc- 
trines. . 


74  Peter  Bosten 

Half  an  hour  before  the  time  appointed,  the  main 
auditorium  of  the  church  building  began  to  fill,  and 
when  President  Stern  and  his  two  counselors  arose, 
as  one  man,  to  announce  the  opening  prayer,  there 
was  no  standing  room  left  in  the  place. 

Noel  and  Peter  occupied  a  seat  in  one  of  the  wings, 
where  they  could  see  the  faces  of  a  greater  part  of 
the  congregation  and  also  of  the  many  missionaries 
and  other  ministers  on  the  large  rostrum.  Adam  E. 
Stern,  cousin  of  the  President,  and  one  of  the  "First 
Presidency,"  offered  the  prayer.  Peter  observed 
that  the  extended  hand  trembled  slightly,  as  did  the 
speaker's  voice.  Words  full  of  soul  and  meaning 
for  that  congregation  were  being  uttered,  Peter 
knew;  but  although  they  stirred  his  emotions,  too, 
they  did  not  illuminate  his  mind,  >and  he  could  not 
conscientiously  murmur  "amen"  with  the  bowed 
heads  around  him. 

General  business  having  gotten  under  way  Noel 
began  to  point  out  conspicuous  characters  to  his 
friend.  Also,  he  explained  the  arrangement  of  the 
"priesthood,"  naming  the  different  sections  in  the 
order  of  their  prominence. 

"You  will  find  all  the  officers  here  that  are  named 
in  the  New  Testament,"  Noel  declared.  "Our  or- 
ganization is  complete." 

"So  I  believe,"  Peter  returned.    "It  is  certainly 


The  Dividing  Line  75 

impressive.  I  like  the  second  Mr.  Stern.  Do  you 
know  of  whom  he  makes  me  think,  Noel?" 

"No;  I  can't  say." 

"Doesn't  he  remind  you  of  a  great  character  in 
religious  history?" 

Noel  thought  a  moment. 

"You  are  thinking  of  the  Christ?" 

"Yes,"  Peter  admitted.  "The  same  sort  of  face, 
I  imagine." 

"If  one  of  our  church  members  hinted  at  such  a 
thing,  can  you  conceive  of  the  cries  it  would  arouse, 
Peter?" 

"Very  readily.  That's  because  most  Christians 
take  Christ's  character  away  from  him  when  they 
condescend  to  worship  him.  Do  you  know,  Noel,  I 
hold  that  word  worship  in  contempt.  It  is  deceptive. 
And  as  for  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  a  great  reformer 
whom  I  admire  beyond  expression,  but  who  has  been 
grossly  misrepresented,  I  think  he  would  reject  most 
of  his  professed  followers  to-day,  should  he  come 
again,  as  he  did  the  Jews." 

Noel  agreed  with  him,  and  they  turned  their  atten- 
tion to  the  President.  He  was  making  a  ruling  on  a 
point  of  order.  The  masterly  manner  in  which  he 
did  it  commanded  Peter's  admiration. 

"I  knew  his  mind  was  like  that,"  was  the  Kansan's 
comment.  . 


76  Peter  Bosten 

For  three  consecutive  mornings  the  two  friends 
sat  in  the  same  section  of  the  main  auditorium ;  dur- 
ing which  sessions  Peter  was  provided  with  material 
for  months,  even  years,  of  reflection.  He  noted,  with 
gratification,  the  freedom  of  speech  accorded  every 
member  of  the  conference ;  and  took  a  keen  interest 
in  the  discussions.  Mind  was  pitted  against  mind, 
and  there  was  no  end  of  genuine  eloquence.  Once 
or  twice  there  had  been  apparent  a  note  of  personal 
feeling;  but  in  spite  of  heated  arguments,  when  the 
business  sessions  ended  and  the  President  or  his 
advisers  offered  the  benediction,  Peter  had  to  admit 
that  there  was  a  splendid  spiritual  harmony  through- 
out. And,  he  realized,  it  was  based  upon  the  unity 
of  their  faith ;  aye,  deeper,  of  their  love.  He  called 
it  a  "psychological  phenomenon." 

The  event  to  which  the  Kansan  looked  forward 
more  than  anything  else  was  the  first  Sunday  morn- 
ing preaching  service,  for  Milton  Stern  was  an- 
nounced as  the  speaker.  As  there  were  many  visiting 
singers,  anxious  to  display  their  powers,  Peter  begged 
Bertha  Kirkton  to  release  him  from  the  choir,  and, 
with  some  embarrassment,  obtained  the  same  favor 
for  Helen  Dyke. 

He  sat  with  her  out  in  front,  where  he  could  look 
the  preacher  in  the  face  and  weigh  every  sentence. 
It  was  clear  to  him  that  Helen  approved  of  his  in- 


The  Dividing  Line  77 

terest,  and  hoped  for  something  as  a  result  of  the 
sermon ;  for  he  had  told  her  of  his  impressions  about 
Mr.  Stern,  eliciting  the  reply  from  her:  "A  mind 
like  yours  will  never  be  able  to  resist  his  mind,  when 
it  is  backed  by  inspiration." 

Helen  made  a  practice  of  ignoring  his  skepticism 
and  speaking  to  him  as  though  he  were  a  member  of 
the  church,  which  amused  Peter  considerably.  She 
refused  to  debate  with  him  on  metaphysical  grounds, 
not  because  she  lacked  intellect,  but  because  she  be- 
lieved in  the  power  of  psychic  suggestion  as  well  as 
faith.  Peter  often  twitted  her  on  her  attempts  to 
*  'hypnotize"  him,  but  invariably  failed  to  involve  her 
in  a  discussion  that  ignored  the  principle  of  belief  in 
the  divine. 

He  knew  as  he  sat  beside  her  this  morning,  wait- 
ing for  President  Stern  to  rise,  that  she  counted  on 
the  "power  of  the  Spirit"  to  aid  the  speaker  in  im- 
pressing a  hostile  mind;  but  Peter  did  not  for- 
tify his  thoughts  against  possible  impressions. 
He  felt  that  he  should  welcome  them,  providing 
they  appealed  to  his  reason;  and  besides,  the  face 
of  the  big  man  before  him,  bended  as  it  was 
over  a  book  in  his  hand,  reassured  the  Kansan 
against  poetical  illusions  and  sacred  platitudes.  He 
knew  that  what  would  be  presented  for  his  consid- 
eration would  be  worthy  of  any  man's  consideration. 


78  Peter  Bosten 

His  knowledge  was  based  upon  observation  and  char- 
acter insight. 

While  the  assisting  pastor  was  making  some  an- 
nouncements Helen  whispered  to  her  companion  that 
he  must  not  expect  too  much,  in  the  way  of  oratory, 
as  the  President  was  not  considered  so  stirring  a 
speaker  as  one  or  two  of  the  Twelve,  particularly 
John  Leader. 

"Some  even  consider  him  a  trifle  cold  and  aca- 
demic," she  admitted. 

"Thank  goodness  for  that,"  Peter  murmured ;  won- 
dering, it  must  be  confessed,  if  she  had  had  a  par- 
tial reaction  against  "inspiration. "  "I'll  hear  some- 
thing logical,  then." 

The  Kansan  was  not  mistaken.  Nor  was  he  dis- 
appointed. But  he  was  not  thrilled  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  when  Adam  Stern  had  prayed  the  opening 
prayer  of  the  conference. 

He  listened  to  a  sermon  that  lifted  his  mind  into 
noble  planes  of  thought ;  that  showed  him  visions  of 
the  infinite,  and  yet  intentionally  fell  short  of  specu- 
lations concerning  the  unknown.  Of  course,  the  Presi- 
dent made  faith  in  God  and  communication  with  the 
Divine  a  cardinal  element  in  his  argument,  but  he 
enlarged  the  conception  Peter  had  had  of  this  faith ; 
made  it,  in  some  mysterious  manner,  more  acceptable 
to  the  analytical  brain. 


The  Dividing  Line  79 

The  chief  thought  in  Peter's  subconscious  mind, 
as  he  listened  to  the  strong  even  tide  of  Mr.  Stern's 
sermon,  was  that  there  must  be  some  reason  for  the 
faith  of  a  man  of  this  caliber.  The  speaker  was  not 
of  the  type  that  is  swayed  by  sentiment.  His  mus- 
cular jaws  spoke  of  battle  and  his  bulging  forehead 
of  tempestuous  thoughts.  He  had  not  arrived  at  his 
present  status  of  mind  without  an  intense  struggle ; 
of  this  the  Kansan  felt  positive.  But  how  did  he 
manage  to  retain — how  had  he  managed  in  the  first 
place  to  secure — this  faith  of  which  he  spoke,  which 
was  the  faith  of  a  hundred  thousand  souls? 

The  question  sat  upon  'Peter  heavily,  but  did  not 
render  him  deaf  to  the  speaker's  train  of  thought. 
Obviously  the  sermon  was  directed  to  those  inside 
the  church.  They  were  admonished  to  be  guided  by 
their  better  selves,  and  renounce  mental  and  moral 
slavery  of  every  sort.  They  were  treated  not  as  a 
mass  of  unthinking  creatures  who  must  rely  upon  the 
clergy  and  obey  them,  but  as  rational  though  faith- 
ful beings  who  must  fight  out  their  own  salvation, 
under  the  guidance  of  God  and  the  weak  instru- 
ments he  used  to  perform  his  work.  They  must  not 
look  for  infallibility  in  the  priesthood.  Such  blind- 
ness had  always  led  to  folly,  in  this  and  other  ages. 
There  must  be  no  popery  in  this  church.  Let  every 


80  Peter  Bosten 

man  and  woman  look  to  the  Creator  as  the  fount  of 
information  and  comfort,  and  to  him  alone. 

But  even  on  this  point  the  President  showed  his 
superiority  of  conception  over  the  average  mind.  He 
pointed  out  man's  duty  to  himself  and  his  fellow  man 
regardless  of  divine  revelation. 

'There  are  certain  interpretations  which  each  of 
us  must  make  upon  the  law  of  God,  daily,  in  our  own 
little  lives,"  he  said.  "Interpretations  affecting  not 
fundamentals,  but  the  application  of  what  we  may 
term  'minor'  gospel  principles  bearing  upon  special 
situations  that  confront  us  constantly.  And  here  we 
must  be  guided  by  our  conception  of  common  recti- 
tude ;  our  common  sense,  if  you  will.  We  must  exer- 
cise our  judgment,  try  out  our  ideals,  and  be  active, 
not  passive,  in  the  great  evolving  universe  of  God." 

The  speaker  closed  the  avenues  of  individual  ego- 
tism by  making  each  of  his  hearers  acutely  conscious 
of  the  rights  of  his  fellow  creatures,  material  and 
moral;  but  at  the  same  time  showed  the  way  to  a 
fuller  enjoyment  of  legitimate  free  agency  and  the 
laudable  exercise  of  human  initiative. 

The  sermon  came  abruptly  to  an  end,  and  the  Kan- 
san  was  conscious  of  waiting  for  something* — he 
scarcely  knew  what.  A  glance  at  Helen  told  him  she 
was  rather  disappointed,  and  Peter  wondered  if  she 
had  caught  the  expression  of  his  face. 


The  Dividing  Line  81 

While  more  announcements  were  being  read  and 
an  anthem  sung  Peter  searched  his  mind  for  a  clew 
to  the  sensation  of  incompleteness  of  which  he  was 
aware.  And  by  and  by,  he  thought,  he  found  it. 
There  was  but  one  missing  link — yet  it  broke  the 
chain.  He  had  agreed  with  President  Stern  on  every 
point,  followed  him  eagerly ;  even  anticipated  him  at 
times;  and  had  been  earnestly  desiring  to  reach  the 
same  conclusions  as  the  speaker.  But  when  he 
(Stern)  had  taken  both  ends  of  the  chain  and  welded 
them  together,  and  Peter  had  essayed  to  do  the  same 
with  a  like  chain  of  his  own,  the  latter  found  a  link 
missing.  The  link  was  Faith. 

Peter  felt  queerly  disappointed.  Minds  like  this 
man's  were  rare.  It  would  be  a  joy  to  share  his 
views;  nay,  something  more  than  a  joy. 

But  that  might  never  be.  The  Kansan  sighed  as 
he  followed  Helen  mechanically  up  the  aisle. 

On  the  street  the  first  words  she  addressed  to  him 
were: 

"I'm  afraid  you  were  disappointed,  Peter.  I  know 
I  was." 

"On  the  contrary,  Helen,"  he  returned,  "it  was  the 
finest  series  of  utterances  I  ever  heard  from  the  pul- 
pit. There  was  personality  and  logic  behind  it." 

She  was  silent  a  moment. 

"I  don't  like  to  criticize  such  a  fine  man  as  Brother 


82  Peter  Bosten 

Stern,"  she  observed,  thoughtfully,  "but  I  really  do 
think  the  Spirit  was  not  with  him  to  any  extent  this 
morning." 

The  Kansan  smiled  oddly. 

"He  was  not  emotional,  Helen,  if  that's  what  you 
mean." 

A  rebuking  glance  was  his  punishment  for  this 
remark. 

"To-night,"  she  said,  "we  will  hear  Brother  Leader 
again.  The  whole  conference  is  waiting  for  it." 

Peter  experienced  a  species  of  resentment. 

"Helen,"  he  spoke  seriously,  "I  don't  think  Mr. 
Stern  is  fully  appreciated — with  all  due  respect  to 
your  church.  He  comes  nearer  to  making  God  com- 
prehensible to  me  than  any  preacher  I  have  ever 
heard  or  read.  But  even  he  has  failed.  I  can't  be- 
lieve, Helen ;  I  can  not.  And  in  my  present  state  of 
mind  I  don't  think  Mr.  Leader's  eloquence  would 
appeal  to  me.  It  is  not  of  the  character  of  Stern's, 
although  I  can  not  explain  the  distinction  in  words." 

"You  mean  that  you  don't  care  to  come  out  to- 
night?" 

They  were  walking  down  Grandview  Avenue. 

"I — well, — yes,  Helen.  I  should  like  to  spend  the 
evening  with  you,  if  you  don't  mind.  I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you — something  that  has  been  on  my 
mind  for  a  long  while." 


The  Dividing  Line  83 

He  observed  that  some  of  the  color  left  her  cheeks 
as  she  replied: 

"Peter,  unless  you  open  your  eyes  to  the  light  of 
truth,  and  humble  yourself  before  God,  I  think  it 
better  that  you  should — that  we  should — ." 

She  broke  off,  and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"You  mean  that  unless  I  learn  to  see  as  you  do, 
love  must  cease  between  us?" 

He  felt  his  heart  instinctively  hardening  to  fortify 
him  for  the  ordeal,  and  found  it  impossible  to  say 
what  he  wanted  to,  exactly,  in  the  way  he  wanted  to. 

She  nodded,  and  dabbed  at  her  cheeks  with  a  tiny 
handkerchief.  The  movement,  insignificant  though 
it  looked,  nevertheless  caused  a  great  flood  of  anguish 
to  sweep  over  the  Kansan.  He  was  carried  back  to 
their  first  meeting,  and  the  innumerable  happy  times 
they  had  spent  together,  over  country  roads  and 
upon  lake  waters.  This  was  the  one  woman  for  him ; 
her  every  grace  proclaimed  the  fact :  and  yet  a  chasm 
had  opened  up  between  their  souls  and  widened  with 
the  passing  of  the  weeks. 

"Helen,"  he  asked,  after  an  awkward  pause, 
his  masculine  nature  brutally  asserting  itself  in  spite 
of  his  crying  it  down,  "would  you  rather  listen  to 
Mr.  Leader's  sermon  to-night  than  to  what  I  have 
to  tell  you?" 


84  Peter  Bosten 

She  had  conquered  her  emotion  and  was  meeting 
his  gaze  now  with  feminine  pride. 

"Some  things  are  a  matter  of  choice,"  she  returned ; 
"others  a  matter  of  duty." 

"You  are  fencing,"  he  said.  "Which  do  you  intend 
to  do?" 

"You  are  unfair,"  she  answered.  "You  place  me 
in  a  dilemma  and  then  torment  me." 

He  was  struck  with  the  justice  of  her  accusation. 

"I  ask  your  forgiveness."  He  spoke  humbly. 
"Helen,  dear,  let's  not  quarrel.  I  will  go  with  you 
to-night,  but  you  must  see  that  there  is  no  hope  for 
me  as  a  Christian.  I  am  essentially  a  nonbeliever. 
Yet  would  I  never  interfere  with  your  faith.  Must 
this  question  of  religion  blight  our  lives?" 

They  had  chosen  a  shady  spot  on  the  grass  at  the 
southern  extremity  of  the  Temple  Lot.  She  raised 
her  mysterious  eyes  to  his  and  answered : 

"There  must  be  something  wrong  with  you,  Peter, 
or  you  would  believe.  The  gospel  of  Christ  is  beau- 
tiful,— when  you  have  it  in  its  fullness.  You  are 
blind,  and  I  am  afraid  you  are  intentionally  so." 

This  accusation  hurt  him,  because  he  believed  it 
to  be  unjust.  He  was  silent,  weighed  down  by  the 
burdens  of  his  mind. 

"The  time  may  come  when  you  will  see  your  stub- 
bornness and  your  hardness  of  heart,  Peter.  When 


The  Dividing  Line  85 

it  does  (I  say  'when'  because  I  believe  it  will  come) 
then  you  may  tell  me  what  you  wish  to  tell.  But  it 
would  not  be  right  for  me  to  listen  now." 

He  tried  to  reply,  but  the  words  stuck  in  his  throat. 
There  was  a  pang  in  his  soul,  and  he  wanted  to  get 
away  by  himself.  He  had  not  realized  before  how 
vital  a  thing  Helen's  faith  was.  He  knew  she  loved 
him,  but  he  also  knew,  now,  that  she  would  give  him 
up  in  preference  to  her  religion. 

Peter,  the  agnostic,  grew  bitter  at  the  thought  of 
it.  The  best  he  had  to  give  was  cast  aside  for  an 
illusion ;  a  belief  at  best. 

The  spirit  of  President  Stern's  sermon  came  to 
him;  the  human  not  the  "divine"  spirit.  Now  it 
dawned  on  him  what  had  been  so  compelling  about 
it:  the  element  of  mortal  uncertainty  that  ran 
through  it.  In  the  efforts  of  such  men  as  Leader  this 
human  doubt  was  not  apparent;  it  was  swallowed 
up  in  swaying  eloquence.  But  into  the  language  of 
the  great-minded  Stern,  the  individual  who  was  more 
a  man  than  a  preacher,  had  crept  this  honest  strain 
of  agnosticism.  It  was  the  thing  that  made  the  ser- 
mon "cold"  to  such  thinkers  and  believers  as  Helen 
and  the  rest;  but  logical  to  minds  like  the  Kansan's. 

But  there  was  no  such  element  in  Helen's  faith. 
She  set  herself  up  as  her  lover's  judge,  so  it  seemed 


86  Peter  Bosten 

to  Peter,  as  unhesitatingly  as  she  had  criticized  the 
unappreciated  President's  sermon. 

Helen,  the  girl  he  loved,  had  become  an  egotist  to 
him.  He  resented  her  attitude,  bitterly. 

"If  you  had  the  faith  you  profess/'  he  said,  after 
considerable  reflection  and  in  a  voice  that  had  again 
lost  its  warmth,  "you  would  not  fear  me,  or  fear  to 
associate  with  me, — even  marry  me.  Unless,"  he 
added,  "you  doubted  my  sincerity.  Is  that  it, 
Helen?"  She  did  not  reply  and  he  interpreted  her 
silence  as  consent. 

This  was  a  deep  thrust.  He  experienced  a  strange 
soul  reaction  under  the  pain  of  it.  He  wanted  to  stay 
with  her  and  fight  it  out,  but  her  manner  somehow 
took  the  heart  out  of  him. 

She  did  not,  in  the  last  analysis,  really  believe  in 
him  at  all.  This  was  the  unwelcome  conclusion  he 
reached.  She  told  him  he  was  "blind,"  where,  in 
reality,  she  meant  that  he  was  insincere. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  let  you  walk  the  rest  of  the  way 
home  alone?"  he  asked,  forcing  a  half  smile. 

The  request  seemed  natural  enough.  There  might 
be  any  number  of  reasons  for  it.  Nevertheless  Helen 
looked  at  him  queerly  as  she  gave  him  leave.  And 
a  moment  after  he  had  gone  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Peter  would  have  welcomed  such  relief  himself; 
but  he  came  from  a  race  of  men  who  hated  sentiment, 


The  Dividing  Line  87 

so  he  merely  compressed  his  lips  and  walked  straight 
ahead,  struggling  against  a  passion  of  suffering  that 
seemed  half  physical. 

Far  down  the  avenue,  Helen  turned  to  look  after 
him ;  but  the  Kansan  did  not  once  glance  behind.  .  .  . 

Peter  did  not  see  Helen  again,  at  close  range,  dur- 
ing the  conference ;  but  an  adventure,  or  rather  the 
beginning  of  one,  befell  him  that  made  it  imperative 
for  him  to  look  her  up.  Believing  her  to  be  in  the 
wrong  he  had  been  waiting  for  a  note  of  apology; 
but,  although  it  had  not  come,  he  must  see  her  now. 

As  he  walked  down  Grandview  Avenue  in  the  di- 
rection of  a  well-known  bungalow  his  thoughts  were 
divided  between  speculations  concerning  Helen's 
state  of  mind,  and  the  singular  chain  of  incidents 
that  had  encircled  his  life  since  coming  to  Petit  City. 
He  recalled  the  last  item  of  conference  proceedings : 
the  (assignment  of  missions :  wherein  his  friend,  Noel, 
had  been  ordained  and  assigned  to  the  Maritime 
Provinces,  Canada;  and  another  friend,  a  Mr.  Day, 
to  the  South  Sea  Islands.  It  was  all  so  strangely 
romantic — so  thoroughly  in  harmony  with  his  own 
year's  experience  in  this  "city  of  saints." 

His  heart  beat  faster  as  he  ascended  the  steps  of 
the  bungalow.  He  had  not  spoken  to  Helen  for  more 
than  a  week.  Surely  their  meeting  would  be  sweet. 


88  Peter  Bosten 

No  modern  girl  would  continue  to  estrange  herself 
from  love  for  the  sake  of  religion.  It  was  too  me- 
dieval, too  moniasterial. 

Nevertheless,  the  Kansan  was  disappointed.  He 
found  that  Helen  had  left  town  with  some  conference 
friends,  and  would  be  away  for  months. 

He  turned  away  heartsick  and  walked  back  toward 
Walton  Street,  wondering  why  she  had  not  so  much 
as  said  good-by.  A  letter  awaited  him,  however. 
He  read  it  mechanically. 

"Dear  Peter: 

"You  will  forgive  me  for  going  away  without 
seeing  you ;  but  I  really  think  it  for  the  best.  There 
can  be  no  love  between  us,  so  long  as  you  reject  the 
gospel.  I  have  seen  too  many  girls'  hearts  broken 
over  religious  differences  to  venture  on  dangerous 
ground  myself,  however  alluring  the  present  may 
seem. 

"Some  day  we  shall  meet  again.  Then,  I  pray,  you 
will  be  of  a  different  mind  about  God. 

"General  delivery,  Denver,  will  reach  me  for  the 
next  two  weeks.  "Yours  sincerely, 

"HELEN." 

Again  in  his  room  the  Kansan  read  the  letter,  then 
he  crushed  it  passionately  in  his  palm  and  threw  it 
in  the  wastebasket.  A  few  minutes  later  he  sat 


The  Dividing  Line  89 

down  to  his  writing  table  and  hurriedly  wrote  the 
following  lines: 

"Dear  Helen:  You  may  have  things  as  you  wish. 
It  is  women  like  you  and  ideas  like  yours  that  have 
sent  many  a  man  to  hell.  But  do  not  flatter  yourself 
that  I  will  go  there — even  though  I  am  an  unbeliever. 
I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  get  along  without  you  or 
your  religion,  and  still  retain  my  respectability. 

"One  of  your  missionaries  introduced  me  to  a 
Brooklyn  newspaper  man,  who  had  come  to  the  con- 
ference on  his  vacation  and  with  whom  I  had  a  long 
conversation.  He  offered  me  a  place  in  the  advertis- 
ing department  of  his  newspaper,  and,  without  know- 
ing just  how  you  were  feeling,  I  accepted  it.  I  am 
to  go  East  at  once.  So  you  see,  I  am  not  so  broken 
up  as  I  might  be.  "Good-by, 

"PETER. 

"P.  S.  You  sign  yourself  'sincerely/  but  I  pre- 
sume I  have  no  right  to  do  so,  lacking  faith  as  I  do." 

Peter  did  not  read  the  letter  over  before  mailing 
it.  He  felt  that  he  had  said  something  that  would 
hurt,  and  did  not  wish  to  ease,  in  revision,  the  smart 
of  a  single  sentence.  A  moment  after  posting  the 
letter  he  had  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  but  cried  it  down 
and  set  about  packing  his  things  for  New  York. 


90  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  V 

"THE  BOY  PREACHER" 

A -DARK  young  man  and  a  fair  young  woman  sat 
in  a  Pullman  speeding  over  the  Burlington  route, 
northeastward.  A  fresh  breeze  through  the  screened 
windows  ruffled  their  hair,  and  enhanced  the  bright- 
ness of  their  eyes. 

Noel  Crayne  was  starting  out  to  be  a  missionary ; 
Jessie  Kirkton  was  accompanying  him  as  far  as 
Chicago. 

"I  can't  realize  that  you  are  going  away  so  far/' 
she  was  saying. 

Nor  could  he.  His  ordination  and  appointment 
had  come  so  suddenly,  it  was  like  a  dream.  By  and 
by  he  turned  his  face  more  directly  toward  her. 

"Wouldn't  the  world  think  this  a  strange  arrange- 
ment, Jessie?  Here  am  I,  with  only  a  high  school 
education;  a  painter  by  trade " 

"An  artist,"  she  corrected,  and  his  bass  laugh  re- 
verberated. 

"But  any  money  I've  made  has  been  at  painting 
houses — not  pictures.  ...  I  have  never  preached  a 
sermon  in  my  life.  And  yet  I  am  on  1.13"  way  to  a 
strange  country  as  a  missionary.  Why,  I  haven't 
even  got  a  black  suit." 


"The  Boy  Preacher"  91 

The  bishop's  niece  smiled. 

"My  uncle  started  out  without  even  a  suit  case, 
Noel ;  not  riding  in  a  Pullman  like  this,  but  walking 
over  the  country  roads.  He  preached  from  house  to 
house,  bearing  the  message  of  salvation  as  the  dis- 
ciples of  old  did." 

This  brought  a  sigh  from  Noel. 

"How  times  have  changed  in  a  few  years !"  he  re- 
turned. "It  seems  to  me  there  was  more  sincerity  in 
the  days  of  our  fathers  and  mothers,  Jessie.  People 
did  not  pay  so  much  attention  to  appearances,  and 
there  was  more  true  religion  in  the  world." 

"I  don't  know,  Noel.  Do  you  think  the  moral 
movement  is  backward  instead  of  forward?" 

"It  seems  to  me  so.  Of  course,  there  is  always  a 
glamor  over  the  past.  It  is  hard  to  speak  definitely 
on  such  a  matter.  How  ignorant  we  are,  after  all !" 

This  train  of  thought  suggested  the  Kansan. 

"I  wish  I  were  going  to  pass  through  New  York," 
the  Missourian  continued,  "so  that  I  could  see  Peter. 
By  the  way,  Jessie,  you  have  never  given  me  your 
candid  opinion  of  him." 

"I've  told  you  I  liked  him." 

"Yes,  but  that  is  rather  vague.  What  do  you 
think  of  hi~  "Laracter  and  viewpoint?" 

She  thought  a  while  before  replying: 

"Somewhat  twisted,  I'm  afraid.    Undoubtedly  he 


92  Peter  Bosten 

has  a  keen  brain,  and  he  seems  to  mean  what  he  says ; 
but  I  have  always  felt  that  there  was  something  lack- 
ing in  him.** 

"Maybe,"  Noel  ventured,  "that  is  because  you  know 
he  doubts  religion  and  discredits  our  God." 

She  smilingly  mentioned  the  fact  that  Peter  Bos- 
ten  always  had  a  champion  in  a  certain  "maiden"- 
missionary,  and  admitted  that  the  Kansan  might 
have  good  qualities  of  which  she  knew  nothing. 

"But,"  she  continued,  "I  know  that  Helen  Dyke 
feels  the  same  way  about  him  as  I  do,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  she  really  cares  for  him." 

Noel  shook  his  head,  as  if  to  shake  off  an  unpleas- 
ant notion. 

"I'm  sorry  things  have  happened  between  them  as 
they  have.  In  many  ways  they  were  an  ideal  pair. 
Still,  I  believe  they  will  come  together  again." 

"They  both  have  minds  of  their  own,  though." 

"Which  is  a  good  thing,"  he  smiled. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  Mrs.  Crayne,  who, 
now  that  her  only  son  had  gone  away  from  home, 
would  be  obliged  to  live  with  her  married  daughter. 

"What  allowance  is  she  getting?"  Jessie  asked. 

"Twenty  a  month.  It  should  only  have  been  sev- 
enteen, but  your  uncle  insisted  on  making  it  twenty, 
which  is  very  much  like  Brother  Garner." 

"Nobody  knows  his  goodness,  Noel,  better  than  his 


"The  Boy  Preacher"  93 

own  relatives.  If  his  critics  could  only  see  his  pri- 
vate life  and  realize  how  thoroughly  wrapped  up  he 
is  in  his  duty,  they  would  take  pains  to  be  fully  in- 
formed before  making  their  petty  charges  against 
him." 

Noel  could  readily  appreciate  this,  for  he  had  an 
intimate  friend,  a  bookkeeper  in  the  bishop's  office, 
who  had  often  told  him  that  never  did  widow  or 
orphan  "apply  to  Brother  Kirkton  for  aid  and  receive 
a  refusal." 

The  mention  of  church  finance,  which  was  a  mat- 
ter of  much  discussion  and  some  misunderstanding 
at  conferences,  naturally  led  the  young  missionary 
and  his  sweetheart  to  think  of  their  own  material 
prospects.  A  mutual  sigh  betrayed  their  thoughts, 
and  then  with  brave,  serious  smiles  they  discussed 
the  question  openly. 

"Jessie,"  he  said,  "we  will  have  to  wait  until  the 
way  opens  up.  We  must  expect  a  test  of  our  faith ; 
it  comes  to  everybody.  But  I  feel  just  as  certain 
God  will  lead  us  to  happiness  as  I  do  that  I  love  you." 

By  some  freak  of  mental  action  Adele  Cressy 
flashed  across  his  mind,  as  he  made  this  utterance ; 
and  he  recalled  a  recent  conversation  with  Peter  on 
the  front  veranda.  However,  Noel  did  not  fear  the 
charming  Adele  in  Jessie's  presence. 

"My  faith  accords  with  yours,"  replied  the  bish- 


94  Peter  Bosten 

op's  niece.  "Uncle  has  often  told  me  of  the  strug- 
gles he  and  auntie  had  when  they  first  married. 
Especially  as  the  family  grew  were  they  constantly 
at  their  wits'  end  to  exist.  Yet  they  did  exist,  raised 
and  educated  their  children,  every  one,  and  uncle 
did  not  give  up  his  missionary  work  either.  He  has 
brought  hundreds  into  the  church,  and  helped  thou- 
sands of  members  in  it  both  materially  and  spir- 
itually. The  way,  most  assuredly,  will  open  up  for 
us."  Directly  she  added:  "Of  course,  until  we  get 
used  to  the  separation  it  will  be  very  hard,  Noel. 
I  hate  to  think  of  it." 

He  pressed  her  hand  and  gazed  out  of  the  win- 
dow, speechless. 

There  is  ample  material  for  philosophy  in  life; 
especially  in  the  lives  of  lovers.  Noel  and  Jessie  al- 
most had  a  quarrel  after  the  maiden-missionary's 
first  sermon,  delivered  before  a  fairly  large  audience 
in  the  South  Chicago  meetinghouse. 

Noel  had  spoken  well,  and  the  ladies  especially,  of 
whom  a  considerable  number  was  present,  had  come 
around  him  to  make  his  acquaintance  and  congratu- 
late him.  One  girl,  in  particular,  had  put  herself 
forward,  and  Jessie  had  observed  that  Noel  seemed 
rather  pleased  with  this  "sister's"  enthusiasm.  An 


"The  Boy  Preacher"  95 

informal  invitation  for  dinner  the  next  day  had  been 
forthcoming — and  readily  accepted. 

It  was  after  the  dinner,  on  their  way  to  the  place 
where  Jessie  was  stopping,  that  she  made  a  remark 
bearing  upon  the  Missourian's  popularity  and  elicited 
a  reply  not  altogether  in  harmony  with  Noel's  na- 
ture. 

In  spite  of  their  high  ideals  both  of  them  were, 
mirable  dictu,  human ;  and  one  word  led  to  another. 
She  relieved  her  mind  of  a  petty  complaint  involv- 
ing Adele  Cressy,  and  he  intimated  that  a  certain 
young  Petit  City  man,  Billy  Moore  by  name,  was 
still  "living  in  hopes/'  and  not  being  sufficiently  dis- 
couraged. 

The  disagreement  came  to  a  sudden  end,  of  course, 
in  tears  and  forgiveness ;  but  like  many  innocent  in- 
cidents of  life,  it  would  resurrect  itself  later  on, 
assuming  greater  importance  as  a  memory  than  as 
an  actuality. 

The  moment  came  when  they  must  take  leave  of 
each  other.  Jessie's  courage  was  an  inspiration  to 
the  Missourian,  and  he  endeavored  not  to  look  tragic 
when  the  train  pulled  out.  Needless  to  say  he  only 
half  succeeded. 

Came  hours  of  blankness,  almost  unconsciousness. 
The  world  was  a  speeding  railway  coach,  with  non- 
chalant passengers  for  inhabitants,  which  bore  one 


96  Peter  Bosten 

% 
away  from   happiness;   through  fields   and   cities, 

strange,  lonesome,  loveless,  into  oblivion. 

Finally  Noel  prayed  to  heaven  for  strength,  after 
which  he  was  able  to  take  a  casual  interest  in  his 
surroundings.  But  it  was  not  until  he  arrived  in 
Boston  that  his  heartsickness  showed  signs  of  leav- 
ing. There  he  was  obliged  to  deliver  another  ser- 
mon, out  in  Somerville,  and  the  preparation  of  the 
same  filled  his  thoughts. 

This  second  effort,  like  the  first,  was  a  success,  and 
the  Missourian  remarked  to  a  brother  that  the  Spirit 
was  with  him,  for  he  never  could  stand  up  before  an 
audience  and  speak  like  that  in  his  own  strength. 

NoePs  faith  was  strengthened  by  the  generous 
actions  of  the  Boston  church  members,  many  of 
whom  came  to  him  with  money  and  other  gifts.  He 
began  to  marvel  at  the  wisdom  of  the  scriptural  sys- 
tem that  sent  Christ's  representatives  out  "without 
purse  or  scrip,"  providing  for  their  sustenance 
through  avenues  of  individual  sacrifice  and  faith 
in  God ;  and  contrasted  it  with  the  "salary  calls"  of 
innumerable  preachers  who  claimed  to  be  followers 
of  the  Nazarene. 

He  felt,  as  he  sailed  out  of  Tea  Harbor  on  the 
Nova  Scotian,  that  wherever  he  might  go,  his  Pro- 
tector and  Guide  would  go  with  him;  and  all  would 
be  well.  It  did  not  matter  that  he  knew  no  one,  not 


"The  Boy  Preacher"  97 

even  the  minister  in  charge  of  his  new  "field."  A 
light  would  go  before  him,  as  in  the  days  of  the 
prophets,  it  went  before  God's  servants.  \ 

The  voyage  to  Halifax  would  have  been  pleasant, 
had  it  not  been  for  memories  of  home.  This  was 
Noel's  first  long  journey  from  loved  ones,  and  it  was 
one  the  end  of  which,  in  time  and  place,  he  could  not 
foresee.  He  thought  it  incredible  that  other  young 
men  on  board  should  gaze  over  the  railing,  smoke, 
laugh  and  flirt  with  the  strange  young  women  vaca- 
tion-bound,— unconcernedly.  Life  could  not  be  so 
serious  a  matter  to  them,  surely,  as  it  was  to  him ! 

But  when  a  few  weeks  had  passed  the  Missourian 
discovered  that  he,  too,  was  prone  to  greet  the  day 
with  laughter  and  his  new-found  friends  with  a  jest. 
Missionary  work  was  turning  out  to  be  a  much  more 
pleasant  occupation  than  he  had  anticipated. 

The  local  missionary  in  charge,  Henry  Davis,  was 
a  man  whom  everybody  loved.  For  twenty  years  he 
had  had  charge  of  the  Maritime  Provinces  mission, 
often  without  a  single  helper;  and  Noel  found  that 
in  all  that  time  "Brother  Davis"  had  never  made  a 
real  enemy  or  lost  a  real  friend. 

He  was  a  man  of  between  fifty  and  sixty  years  of 
age,  but  possessed  the  heart  of  a  boy. 

They  got  along  together  like  two  school  chums. 
While  awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  preaching  tent  from 


98  Peter  Bosten 

Montreal  they  studied  together,  went  fishing  and 
blueberry  picking  together,  discussed  literary  and 
even  sentimental  subjects,  and  analyzed  each  other's 
minds  with  a  freedom  born  of  perfect  understanding. 

When  the  tent  came  they  set  to  work  trimming 
poles  for  it,  and  Brother  Davis  showed  such  dexterity 
with  the  ropes  that  Noel  began  to  wonder  if  this 
man's  accomplishments  had  any  limitation. 

"Dad/'  he  said  one  day,  using  this  familiar  term 
for  the  first  but  not  the  last  time,  "it  seems  to  me 
about  the  only  thing  you  haven't  done  is  write  a 
book." 

The  old  missionary  rarely  laughed;  but  when  he 
smiled,  which  was  often,  a  singularly  happy  twinkle 
oame  into  his  eyes,  though  his  lips  barely  moved. 
Noel  saw  the  twinkle  now. 

"Queer  that  you  should  hit  upon  my  one  deep 
secret  so  directly,"  came  the  answer.  "I  suppose  you 
will  think  I  am  joking  when  I  tell  you  I  have  written 
a  book,  and  a  novel  at  that.  Everybody's  doing  it 
these  times." 

For  days,  thereafter,  in  the  hours  of  leisure  af- 
forded them,  they  read  over  the  manuscript  together, 
Noel  continuing  to  find  hidden  treasures  in  his  com- 
panion's mind.  The  story  was  so  far  superior  to  the 
ordinary  novel  with  which  the  Missourian  was  ac- 
quainted, that  he  urged  Brother  Davis  to  submit  it 


"The  Boy  Preacher"  99 

at  once  to  a  big  publisher ;  but  the  elder  missionary's 
eyes  only  twinkled. 

"It  would  take  a  good  mathematician,"  he  said, 
"to  count  the  number  of  times  it  has  already  been 
rejected." 

This  was  appalling  to  Noel. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  publishers?"  he 
asked,  indignantly. 

"Maybe  the  trouble  lies  in  the  book,  or — or  the 
public." 

"The  public !  That's  it.  They  want  sentiment  and 
sickening  drivel.  Your  story,  Brother  Davis,  is  too 
strong  for  them.  It's  the  same  way  about  religion, 
isn't  it?" 

The  missionary  in  charge  would  assent  to  such 
statements  with  a  kindly  nod  and  go  on  reading 
aloud  his  manuscript. .  .  . 

The  Nova  Scotians  had  taken  kindly  to  the  youth- 
ful Missourian.  They  named  him  "the  Boy 
Preacher,"  and  used  him  so  well  they  might  have 
spoiled  him.  There  were  several  kind  old  sisters  who 
occasionally  bestowed  a  maternal  kiss  on  him,  some- 
times to  his  embarrassment;  and  there  were  others 
who  declared  that  he  was  responsible  for  a  sudden 
interest  in  religion  on  the  part  of  certain  pretty 
Evangelines.  But  Noel  did  not  allow  kindness  and 


100  Peter  Bosten 

flattery  to  turn  his  head.  He  was  too  vitally  inter- 
ested in  his  work  for  that. 

True,  when  he  met  Beth  Farrar,  with  her  baffling 
blue  eyes  that  slanted  like  a  geisha's,  and  her  simple, 
attractive  personality,  he  experienced  delectably 
dizzy  sensations,  and  found  it  hard  to  study  for  a  few 
days;  but  when  humiliation  and  remorse  succeeded 
this  inexplicable  soul-wavering,  and  he  had  prayed 
for  help,  his  missionary  duties  went  forward  again. 

Nevertheless,  in  periods  of  self-communion,  as  he 
walked  alone  through  the  meadows  sweet  with  the 
scent  of  wild  roses,  full  of  the  joy  and  passion  of 
youth,  there  stole  into  his  dreams  of  home  thought 
of  Beth  Farrar ;  and  although  he  longed  to  see  her 
join  the  church,  he  hoped  she  would  defer  her  in- 
terest in  the  tent  meetings  until  he  was  master  of 
himself.  The  moment  such  a  hope  arose  within  him, 
of  course,  he  hated  himself  for  the  admission  of 
weakness  it  involved,  and  wondered  at  the  mortal 
perversity  of  a  heart  that  could,  for  an  instant,  toler- 
ate two  loves  simultaneously. 

Ofttimes  when  struggling  with  himself  in  this 
manner  a  third  vision  hovered  on  the  horizon  of  his 
dreams:  Adele  Cressy.  Once  the  Missourian  was 
obliged  to  laugh  aloud  at  his  sentimental  folly.  He 
was  sitting  down  by  a  brook,  at  the  time,  making  a 
sylvan  sketch. 


"The  Boy  Preacher"  101 

"I  didn't  know  you  saw  me,"  said  a  light  voice 
from  behind  him. 

Noel  started,  and  turned  around. 

"Why,  Miss  Farrar,"  he  said,  rising  and  coloring, 
"I  didn't  know  you  were  there!" 

"You  didn't?  I  thought  you  saw  my  reflection  in 
the  brook.  Why,  you  laughed?" 

He  felt  embarrassed,  and  evaded  the  subject  by 
handing  her  the  sketch  to  look  at. 

"Splendid!"  she  cried.  "I  had  no  idea  you  were 
an  artist,  too." 

"Neither  I  am,"  he  returned.  "But  one  can't 
study  all  the  time,  you  know.  And  it  does  get  a  trifle 
lonesome  here  sometimes." 

She  turned  those  baffling  eyes  upon  him,  and  there 
was  a  serious  light  in  them. 

"Indeed  it  must,  Mr.  Crayne,"  she  said.  By  and 
by  she  added:  "I  have  often  wondered  about  the 
ministers  of  your  church.  They  are  such  strange  be- 
ings, most  of  them.  Mr.  Davis  is  such  a  lovely  man ; 
such  a  unique  character.  And  others  of  your  faith 
who  have  come  here,  young  men  little  older  than 
yourself,  to  convert  us  sinners" — she  smiled  attrac- 
tively— "it  is  hard  for  me  to  understand.  You,  for 
instance;  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  you  a  preacher; 
and  yet  you  are  one." 

Noel  could  not  deny  to  himself  that  he  was  glad 


102  Peter  Bosten 

Miss  Farrar  had  found  his  seclusion.  He  spread  a 
handkerchief  on  the  grass  to  protect  her  white  dress 
against  stains,  and  after  expressing  a  doubt  as  to 
the  propriety  of  her  action,  and  excusing  herself  on 
the  plea  that  it  had  long  been  a  habit  of  hers  to  write 
verses  by  the  brook,  evidence  of  which  she  supplied  in 
the  form  of  a  writing  pad,  she  consented  to  remain 
awhile. 

"For  I  am  really  interested  in  knowing,  from  your 
own  lips,  Mr.  Crayne,  what  it  is  about  this  religion 
of  yours  that  prompts  you  to  make  such  a  sacrifice 
as  you  are  making." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  sincerity  of  her  words. 
Noel  straightway  forgot  externals  in  the  message  he 
bore  to  "all  the  world," 

For  nearly  two  hours,  then,  he  told  her  about  the 
gospel  of  Christ,  as  he  understood  it ;  of  the  apostasy 
from  the  "faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints" ;  of  the 
Dark  Ages,  during  which  the  Scriptures  had  been 
corrupted,  even  as  the  law  of  Moses  was  corrupted 
by  the  Jews  prior  to  Christ;  of  the  reformation 
brought  about  by  Luther,  Calvin,  the  Wesleys  and 
others;  and  finally  of  the  restoration  of  divine  au- 
thority, in  its  fullness,  by  what  men  called  "miracu- 
lous" means.  He  told  her  of  the  poor  and  humble 
instruments  God  had  used  to  confound  the  wisdom 
of  the  wise  in  "these  last  days,"  and  of  the  hope  he 


"The  Boy  Preacher"  103 

had  that  Christ  would  soon  return  to  earth  again, 
this  time  as  the  King  of  kings.  He  pointed  her  to  the 
signs  of  the  times ;  wars  and  rumors  of  wars,  men's 
hearts  failing  them,  the  increase  of  wickedness  and 
infidelity ;  and  many  other  things  that  were  new  to 
her. 

Perhaps  it  was  his  manner  rather  than  his  words 
that  really  impressed  her;  but  the  fact  remained 
that  she  was  impressed,  thrilled  even  as  Peter  Bosten 
had  been  the  morning  he  first  heard  this  earnest 
young  Missourian's  voice. 

Finally  Miss  Farrar  looked  at  her  little  watch  with 
a  shocked  expression  and  hurried  away;  leaving 
Noel  in  a  peculiar  state  of  mind.  Now  that  the 
burden  of  his  message  had  been  delivered  he  had 
mental  leisure  to  consider  the  human  aspect  of  the 
interview.  Had  the  fair  Nova  Scotian,  after  all, 
really  understood  him?  Might  she  not  have  seen  a 
masculine  as  well  as  a  religious  light  in  his  eyes,  as 
he  gazed  steadily  into  hers? 

Accustomed  to  being  scrupulously  honest  with 
himself,  he  realized  now  that  the  interview  had 
proved  much  more  pleasant  than  it  would  have  done 
had  his  interlocutor  been  an  aged  or  uncomely  per- 
son. 

He  sighed  as  he  rose  to  leave  the  brook.  This  mis- 
sion of  his  was  becoming  more  complex  every  day. 


104  Peter  Bosten 

He  was  aware  of  a  tightening  of  the  heartstrings, 
and  of  an  evolution  of  thought. 

Peter  Bosten  was,  perhaps,  more  in  his  mind  than 
anyone  else.  He  could  not  help  taking  the  Kansan's 
view  of  life  and  religion  occasionally.  As  he  gazed 
over  the  faces  of  his  congregation  betimes  and  real- 
ized that  what  he  said  was  Greek  to  them,  the  terse 
phrases,  the  crystal  criticisms  on  theology  employed 
by  the  agnostic  Peter,  would  cross  his  mind,  often 
leaving  miserable  doubts. 

Prayer  was  the  only  weapon  Noel  had  against  un- 
certainty ;  but  even  while  praying  he  was  sometimes 
conscious  of  a  question  in  the  back  of  his  brain  as 
to  the  reasonableness  of  it.  Might  not  religion,  as 
Peter  claimed,  be  merely  a  means  of  self -deception, 
after  all? 

Brother  Davis's  companionship  and  counsel  were 
a  great  solace  these  days,  as  were  Jessie  Kirkton's 
letters.  But  a  post  card  came  one  day  that  brought 
a  pang.  It  was  from  Adele  Cressy,  and  stated  that 
she  had  accepted  an  engagement  with  a  musical 
comedy  company  and  hoped  to  be  an  actress  when 
next  she  saw  him. 

Noel  prayed  for  her;  but,  such  is  the  complexity 
of  this  frail  mortal  mind,  he  felt  a  certain  amount 
of  pride  in  her,  withal,  and  pictured  her  carrying 
bouquets  away  from  the  footlights.  The  old  phenom- 


"The  Boy  Preacher"  105 

enon  of  a  rise  in  temperature  was  in  evidence  as  he 
read  and  reread  the  card;  and  he  wondered  why 
Jessie's  letters  had  not  more  of  the  same  effect. 

Jessie  he  idealized.  She  occupied  a  throne  in  his 
mind.  She  was  not  flesh  and  blood,  but  spirit. 

Adele  was  a  warm  potentiality,  physical,  enthrall- 
ing, that  seized  him  in  unguarded  moments  and 
played  havoc  with  his  fancy. 

The  Nova  Scotian,  Beth  Farrar,  strange  to  say, 
seemed  to  be  a  combination  of  the  two.  Which  mys- 
tery worried  the  puzzled  Missourian  unduly.  He 
sometimes  felt  the  earth  tremble  slightly  beneath  his 
feet,  and  in  such  moments  thought  of  monks  of  the 
Middle  Ages  who  had  shut  themselves  up  from  temp- 
tation to  keep  their  thoughts  on  high.  But  having 
no  sympathy  with  such  "devotion,"  and  yet  realizing 
with  what  uncertain  steps  he  kept  the  narrow  way 
amid  life's  allurements,  Noel's  career,  as  maiden-mis- 
sionary, was  difficult.  Nor  had  he  done  with  it  yet. 

Late  in  the  summer  Beth  Farrar,  whom  the  gos- 
sips had  already  accused  of  being  in  love  with  the 
"Boy  Preacher,"  asked  Brother  Davis  for  baptism. 
Noel,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  not  as  happy  over 
the  event  as  he  might  have  been.  Away  down  in  his 
heart  there  was  a  miserable  semiconviction  that  him- 
self, rather  than  the  "Spirit  of  God,"  had  been  im- 
mediately responsible  for  the  conversion.  He  con- 


106  Peter  Bosten 

sidered  this  feeling  decidedly  sacrilegious,  but  in 
spite  of  that  it  insisted  on  lingering. 

However,  the  way  was  opening  up  for  him,  &s  he 
had  prayed  and  tried  to  believe  it  would. 

Brother  Davis  took  sick  and  was  compelled  to  leave 
the  Provinces.  This  left  Noel  alone  in  Nova  Scotia ; 
and  a  branch  of  the  church  in  Kings  County  had  not 
yet  been  visited. 

The  tent  having  been  closed  up  for  the  summer, 
the  Missourian  was  instructed  by  his  senior  to  visit 
the  church  members  southward,  then  report  to  the 
apostle  of  the  Eastern  Mission. 

So  Noel  found  himself  preaching  in  a  country 
schoolhouse,  to  rough,  bearded  lumberjacks  and 
hardy  sons  of  the  soil.  He  delivered  fourteen  ser- 
mons in  two  weeks,  ending  by  conducting  the  funeral 
services  of  a  man  who  had  died  at  eighty-eight 
years  of  age.  He  preached  on  the  resurrection  and 
the  hope  of  salvation  true  believers  in  Christ  cherish, 
reflecting,  beneath  his  sentences,  on  the  courage  his 
faith  imparted  to  him. 

After  the  funeral  service  he  bade  these  kindly, 
unsophisticated  souls  farewell  and  was  showered 
with  blessings,  tangible  and  intangible.  They  had 
waited  two  years  to  see  the  visiting  missionary  of 
their  faith,  and  when  a  mere  boy  had  come  with  the 


"The  Boy  Preacher"  107 

old  words  of  wisdom  they  loved,  the  effect  upon  them 
had  been  dramatic. 

Noel  left  them  with  tears  in  their  eyes — and  his 
own.  Word  had  come  for  him  to  join  Roland  Fraser 
in  Maine,  until  further  notice. 

He  left  Nova  Scotia  without  bidding  Beth  Farrar 
good-by,  knowing  the  parting  would  cause  both  of 
them  a  pang.  That  he  could  have  allowed  a  serious 
attachment  to  form  for  her  he  well  knew.  That  she 
already  cared  for  him  he  dared  not  to  think. 

As  he  sailed  out  of  Digby,  bound  for  Saint  John, 
he  mused  on  the  extent  of  man's  emotions,  and  their 
contradictory  nature ;  wondering  if  he  would  ever  be 
wrecked,  as  others  had  been,  upon  the  shoals  of  hu- 
man passion. 


108  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  VI 

A  MISSIONARY'S  TROUBLES 

THE  Missourian  spent  several  instructive  and  in- 
teresting months  in  eastern  Maine,  among  the  coast 
towns.  Sometimes  he  wias  working  with  Roland 
Frazer,  whom  he  found  to  be  a  remarkable  char- 
acter (occasionally  exacting  and  austere,  but  usually 
as  full  of  Christian  charity  as  he  was  of  personal 
magnetism) ;  and  sometimes  laboring  alone. 

The  phases  of  his  work  were  numerous  and  di- 
verse. For  an  entire  week  he  had  done  nothing  but 
keep  house  for  an  elderly  sister  who  was  sick  and 
neglected,  at  the  end  of  which  two  young  women 
came  to  the  rescue,  meekly  acknowledging  their  self- 
ishness and  declaring  that  the  missionary  had  taught 
"them  a  lesson  they  would  never  forget. 

One  other  week  he  had  taken  a  vacation,  accom- 
panying some  of  the  fishermen  on  daily  excursions 
among  the  lobster  traps  and  fishing  smacks.  He 
tried  to  eat  as  many  beans  as  they,  on  their  recom- 
mendation that  beans  were  the  best  protection 
against  cold  sea  breezes;  but  failed  ignominiously. 
But  where  fresh  lobster  salad  was  concerned  he  as- 
tonished even  the  heartiest  seaman. 

The  young  missionary  tried  to  apply  the  teachings 


A  Missionary's  Troubles  109 

of  Christ  to  his  everyday  life,  and  act,  in  every  situa- 
tion, as  he  believed  the  Master  of  men  would  act. 
This  endeavor,  he  discovered,  kept  him  thinking  of 
others  so  diligently,  he  was  able  to  forget  his  own 
troubles  in  theirs. 

In  a  few  months  Beth  Farrar  had  beeome  but  a 
happy  memory ;  a  memory,  however,  which  he  knew 
could  be  revived  by  personal  contact  into  a  torment- 
ing reality;  and  loneliness  for  Jessie  Kirkton  had 
mysteriously  disappeared.  Noel  was  convinced  he 
still  loved  her,  and  would  one  day  marry  her;  but 
no  longer  did  the  heart-burning  keep  him  awake  at 
night.  Jessie  had  more  than  ever  become  spirit- 
ualized in  his  mind ;  she  was  an  ideal  that  remained 
with  him  constantly,  not  to  disturb  but  to  soothe. 

Adele  Cressy  was  still  in  his  thoughts,  at  intervals. 
When  he  skimmed  over  the  whitecaps  in  one  of  the 
fishermen's  launches,  the  nor'easter  calling  the  blood 
to  his  cheeks  and  the  sea  birds  screaming  joyously 
through  the  foam,  he  sometimes  experienced  a  keen 
desire  to  have  Adele  with  him:  she  would  enjoy  all 
this  so  much ! 

He  did  not  associate  Jessie  with  such  physical 
pleasures.  In  the  calm  of  evening,  seated  by  the  fire 
with  a  book,  he  invariably  conjured  the  image  he 
loved;  but  out-of-doors,  where  the  billows  pounded 
the  rocky  shore  and  a  salt  breeze  stirred  virile  na- 


110  Peter  Bosten 

tures  to  the  core,  Noel  could  not  help  thinking  of 
Adele,  the  girl  so  full  of  earthly  joy  and  charm,  whom 
he  knew  loved  him  with  singular  passion  and  for 
whom  he  was  aware  a  certain  part  of  his  nature 
constantly  cried  out. 

Often  he  pondered  over  the  statement  concerning 
Christ:  "Tempted  in  like  manner  as  we,  yet  without 
sin."  Had  the  Master  loved  Mary  with  this  mortal 
love,  before  his  crucifixion,  and  renounced  it  for  the 
sake  of  his  mission?  Certain  maledictions  recorded 
in  history,  directed  against  his  morals,  seemed  to 
point  to  the  fact  of  an  attachment,  though  not  the 
kind  that  his  vilifiers  pretended  to  credit. 

If  he  had  been  tempted  as  we,  would  he  have  es- 
caped the  supreme  trial  of  man's  nature?  Noeil 
thought  not.  He  believed  that  Jesus  had  loved ;  and, 
so  far  as  this  world  and  its  pleasures  were  concerned, 
that  love  had  been  in  vain.  The  thought  was  a  great 
solace  to  the  young  missionary,  who,  by  the  way, 
was  developing  into  a  seasoned  worker  and  losing  his 
title  of  "the  Boy  Preacher."  Adults  often  overlooked 
his  youth  now,  when  they  listened  to  his  utterances. 

So  even  in  his  sentimental  relations  Noel  studied 
to  do  as  the  Savior  would  have  done.  He  continued 
to  pray  that  distracting  passions  would  not  prove 
too  much  for  his  strength,  and  that  the  way  would 


A  Missionary's  Troubles  111 

be  opened  up  for  his  marriage  to  Jessie,  whose  soul 
he  conceived  to  be  so  pure. 

Only  two  letters  had  come  from  the  Kansan,  and 
they  were  melancholy  in  tone.  Noel  replied  to  them 
at  length,  expressing  the  hope  that  he  would  soon 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his  friend. 

Shortly  after  Christmas  a  message  from  the  min- 
ister in  charge  of  the  Eastern  Mission  announced 
that  there  was  a  temporary  pastoral  vacancy  in  one  of 
the  large  eastern  branches  of  the  church.  Noel  was 
asked  to  report  at  Portland,  to  consider  acceptance 
of  the  vacancy  for  a  while.  He  did  so,  and  was  not 
returned  to  the  coast  towns,  but  sent  to  Ladner,  a 
city  in  southern  New  Jersey. 

The  chief  reason  for  his  appointment  to  this  place 
was  that  recently  a  large  number  of  young  people 
had  come  into  the  church  here,  and  the  minister  in 
charge  of  the  field  believed  a  young  pastor  would 
be  an  inspiration  to  them.  The  permanent  pastor 
had  been  obliged  to  sail  for  England  and  would  be 
away  indefinitely;  and  Noel  Crayne  was  considered 
the  very  man  to  undertake  the  apostle's  experiment. 
The  church  was  endeavoring  to  give  all  the  encour- 
agement possible  to  the  rising  generation,  for  upon 
it  depended  greater  things,  perhaps,  than  had  yet 
transpired  in  the  history  of  the  "Restoration." 

Noel  could  not  believe  himself  capable  of  perform- 


112  Peter  Bosten 

ing  the  allotted  task;  he  thought  there  were  other 
more  experienced  and  powerful  men  who  might  have 
been  chosen.  But  his  modesty  was  ignored.  He  was 
urged  to  take  God  into  his  confidence  and  do  his  best. 

The  first  Sunday  morning  was  something  of  an 
ordeal.  The  youthful  preacher  felt  his  knees  tremble 
as  he  rose  behind  a  pulpit  where  the  best  orators  of 
the  church  had  often  stood.  He  saw  before  him  sev- 
eral hundred  listeners ;  men  and  women  to  whom  he 
must  seem  but  a  child,  both  in  years  and  knowledge. 
But  he  recalled  the  origin  of  the  gospel,  as  restored 
in  these  "the  last  days" ;  the  ignorant,  inexperienced 
instruments  the  Almighty  had  used  to  carry  his  mes- 
sage of  salvation  forth ;  and  took  heart.  Even  as  he 
made  his  opening  remarks  he  was  praying,  in  his 
mind,  for  courage  and  wisdom. 

Presently  a  warm  wave  seemed  to  sweep  over  him, 
from  head  to  foot,  and  his  tongue  was  loosed.  He 
knew  what  he  was  saying;  every  thought  expressed 
was  familiar  to  him ;  but  he  marveled  at  the  fluency 
of  his  speech  and  the  force  with  which  his  arguments 
left  his  lips.  It  seemed  as  if  a  power  within  him  was 
doing  the  talking,  and  he,  like  the  audience  below, 
merely  listened  and  understood. 

The  time  passed  with  mysterious  rapidity.  The 
big  clock  at  the  rear  of  the  auditorium  reminded  him 
that  he  had  preached  almost  an  hour.  Then,  sud- 


A  Missionary's  Troubles  113 

denly,  it  seemed  that  a  curtain  was  drawn  before  his 
spiritual  vision ;  and  he  knew  that  his  message  had 
been  delivered.  He  sat  down  with  a  sensation  of 
physical  weakness,  resting  his  head  in  his  hands. 
Tremors  coursed  through  him  and  he  wanted  to 
weep,  not  from  sadness  but  with  joy  sublime. 

Came  the  inevitable  handshakes  and  expressions 
of  gratitude.  Most  of  them  were  genuine ;  but  Noel 
encountered  one  '  'brother"  whose  manner  was  pat- 
ronizing and  whose  speech  sounded  insincere.  It 
was  no  less  a,  light  than  Thomas  T.  Jacobs,  a  man 
whose  name  was  attached  to  occasional  wordy  letters 
in  the  church  papers,  and  who  was  noted  for  his 
contributions  to  "charity." 

"Brother  Crayne,"  he  said,  adding — "I  believe  that 
is  the  name?  Well,  Brother  Crayne,  we  are  glad  to 
have  you  with  us.  It  will  be  a  fine  experience  for 
you ;  and,  in  fact,  I  trust  the  benefit  derived  will  be 
mutual.  I  want  you  to  meet  my  son  and  daughter, 
who  will  bring  you  up  to  the  house  for  noon  dinner." 

There  seemed  to  be  no  doubt  of  a  missionary's  de- 
sire to  accept  such  an  invitation.  The  possibility  of 
a  refusal  was  not  even  considered.  Noel,  however, 
explained  that  although  he  should  be  happy  to  meet 
the  son  and  daughter,  he  had  promised  to  go  else- 
where for  lunch. 

"Then   you   will   come   for   supper,"   added   Mr. 


114  Peter  Bosten 

Jacobs,  beckoning  to  his  two  children,  who  were 
waiting  for  him  down  the  aisle. 

The  daughter,  Millicent,  was  a  pretty  girl  of  per- 
haps twenty.  She  was  dressed  elaborately  and  had 
a  way  of  arching  her  brows  and  puckering  her  lips 
when  smiling,  that  struck  the  Missourian  as  being 
rather  theatrical.  Also,  when  she  shook  hands  it 
was  with  a  mere  touch  of  the  finger  tips.  Noel  ob- 
served that  she  glanced  at  him  coyly  even  after  the 
introduction  was  complete,  while  he  was  speaking 
with  the  brother,  Arthur. 

Arthur  looked  and  acted  like  his  father.  He"  was 
a  tall,  impressive  individual,  with  an  artistic  face, 
which,  unfortunately,  lacked  the  deeper  lines  of  ear- 
nestness. The  missionary  was  wavering  in  his 
analysis  of  him  when  he,  Arthur,  said  something  pat- 
ronizing (a  habit,  obviously,  inherited  from  the 
parent)  ;  and  then  Noel  decided  he  did  not  like  Ar- 
thur. 

However,  Missourians  are  charitable,  as  a  rule, 
even  though  they  "want  to  be  shown" ;  and  Noel  was 
no  exception.  He  was,  if  anything,  more  generous- 
minded  than  the  average.  It  was  his  creed,  more- 
over, that  it  is  better  to  err  on  the  side  of  right  than 
on  the  other  side :  and  the  highest  expression  of  right 
involved  thinking  well  of  one's  fellow  creatures.  He 


A  Missionary's  Troubles  115 

determined  to  have  no  prejudices  in  his  work  here; 
but  act  as  nearly  like  Christ  as  possible. 

Act  like  Christ!  He  thought  of  that  Supreme 
Reformer,  who  came  not  to  bring  peace  but  a  sword ; 
who  drove  the  money  changers  out  of  the  temple  and 
called  the  scribes  and  Pharisees  hypocrites.  Was  it 
not  the  part  of  his  servants  to  deal  sternly  with  hy- 
pocrisy, as  he  had  done? 

Noel  felt  sad  at  heart  as  he  reclined  in  a  great 
morris  chair  in  the  Jacobs  drawing  room.  About  him 
was  wealth  and  luxury,  and  before  him  sat  a  man  of 
the  world  (though  a  brother  in  the  church,  osten- 
sibly) and  his  well-groomed  son,  smoking  cigars  and 
conversing  easily  about  "the  morality  of  the  world," 
"the  cure  of  the  gospel/'  "the  salvation  of  the  human 
family,"  "the  ideals  of  the  church,"  and  so  on;  not 
realizing  that  they  were  dealing  with  the  letter  of 
the  law  and  leaving  the  spirit  out  of  it.  They  were 
speaking  in  formulas  they  had  learned,  Noel  felt; 
and  the  task  of  making  them  see  themselves  in  the 
light  of  the  Gospel  with  a  capital  "G,"  seemed  too 
great  for  him.  He  sighed  heavily,  and  they  smil- 
ingly accused  him  of  being  homesick. 

For  weeks  the  youthful  missionary  worried  over 
the  affairs  of  the  church  at  Ladner.  There  were 
times  when  he  longed  to  be  back  on  the  "firing  line" 
again,  preaching  first  principles,  faith,  repentance, 


116  Peter  Bosten 

baptism  of  water  and  the  Spirit,  the  resurrection, 
and  the  eternal  judgment.  Out  among  strangers  he 
was  not  hampered  by  bad  examples,  weak  person- 
alities. He  could  show  his  hungry  hearers  the  plan 
of  salvation  in  all  its  purity  and  simplicity,  without 
being  pointed  to  lives  wherein  that  plan  had  failed 
to  produce  satisfactory  results — because  of  the  un- 
fitness  of  the  soil. 

Moreover,  here  in  the  city  there  were  temptations 
that  did  not  cluster  about  the  path  of  simple  country 
folks,  out  in  God's  green  fields.  There  were  allure- 
ments for  tired  souls,  worn  out  physically  and  men-  > 
tally  by  abnormal  toil ;  for  hasty  youth,  with  its  love 
of  the  artificial,  the  glamorous;  for  the  superficial, 
whose  natural  tendencies  were  in  the  direction  of 
pleasure:  pleasure  that  might  have  taken  an  inno- 
cent form  in  the  country,  but  drifted  into  channels 
of  depravity  here. 

Noel  had  seen  sin  in  the  Petit  City  church;  but 
there  his  had  not  been  the  responsibility  of  coping 
with  it.  Here  he  was  pastor.  It  seemed  incredible, 
but  it  was  true. 

Of  all  his  cares,  perhaps  that  of  tolerating  the 
evident  insincerity  (who  should  say  whether  or  not 
it  was  conscious  insincerity?)  of  the  Jacobs  family, 
sufficiently  to  help  them,  was  the  greatest.  Often  he 
wanted  to  use  the  direct  method  and  tell  them  his 


A  Missionary's  Troubles  117 

conviction  regarding  them.  Indeed  he  would  have 
done  so,  had  he  been  as  sure  of  his  position  as  the 
Master  was  of  his,  in  denouncing  the  Pharisees.  But 
fearing  in  his  ignorance  to  alienate  those  whom  it 
was  his  duty  to  aid,  he  waited  and  prayed. 

The  inevitable  break  came  at  last,  however,  when 
Mrs.  Jacobs,  the  most  superior  member  of  the  family, 
detected  personal  allusions  in  certain  remarks  of  the 
pastor's,  and  sent  her  husband  to  him  demanding  an 
apology.  The  manner  in  which  Mr.  Jacobs  ap- 
proached the  Missourian  overbalanced  the  latter's 
restraint.  There  was  nothing  manly  about  the  ap- 
proach. It  was  a  tactical,  sordidly  diplomatic  move, 
and  Noel,  for  the  first  time  in  his  ministerial  career, 
became  eloquent  in  personal  rebuke. 

There  were  no  outward  signs  of  hostility  there- 
after until  the  semiannual  business  meeting,  in  May. 
But  at  that  meeting  the  storm  which  had  been  gath- 
ering broke  in  all  its  fury,  and  the  Jacobs  faction  of 
the  church  sustained  a  motion  requesting  the  pastor 
to  resign ;  giving  as  a  reason  his  youthful  indiscre- 
tion in  dealing  with  matters  that  were  too  delicate 
for  one  of  his  years  to  comprehend  or  control. 

A  lively  debate  ensued,  in  which  Noel,  of  course, 
did  not  take  part;  but  his  supporters,  including  all 
but  the  Jacobs  faction,  did.  Ranged  on  his  side  were 
practically  all  of  the  young  folks,  some  of  whom 


118  Peter  Bosten 

showed  signs  of  budding  eloquence  in  their  excited 
appeals  on  his  behalf. 

But  ere  the  discussion  had  got  well  under  way, 
Noel  withdrew,  (it  was  thought  he  had  gone  out  but 
for  a  moment),  and  walked  the  city  streets  alone. 
His  head  swam  and  there  was  a  nauseation  in  his 
soul.  That  he  had  more  in  his  favor  than  against 
him  did  not  seem  to  alleviate  his  suffering.  He 
thought  only  of  the  struggle  he  had  made  to  do  his 
duty,  and  of  the  disheartening  outcome.  What  had 
his  work  amounted  to?  The  young  people  liked  Mm. 
But  what  did  that  signify?  Would  they  not  have 
liked  anyone  who  treated  them  even  humanely? 
Would  they  not  have  liked  a  preacher  of  any  denom- 
ination, had  he  proven  himself  a  man  in  his  dealings 
with  them? 

The  work  of  a  real  Christian  reformer  was  not  to 
save  the  good  but  the  wicked.  But  he,  Noel  Crayne, 
had  merely  stirred  up  the  evil  and  set  its  stench 
expanding,  to  contaminate  the  entire  body. 

The  spirit  of  Peter  Bosten  rose  before  him.  What 
a  noble  character  Peter  was  as  compared  with  these 
squabbling,  pride-enveloped  "patricians"  of  the  Lad- 
ner  Branch!  Jacobs  and  his  family  claimed  to  be 
"Children  of  God" ;  they  had  placed  their  names  on 
the  church  records,  and  were  in  the  habit  of  con- 
tributing to  its  treasury.  So  long  as  their  sins  were 


A  Missionary's  Troubles  119 

not  hinted  at,  they  flattered  and  patronized  and  fed 
the  pastor ;  but  the  moment  he  tried  to  help  them  see 
their  folly,  they  turned  on  him  almost  as  savagely  as 
wild  beasts,  though,  perhaps,  with  slightly  better 
breeding,  and  demanded  that  he  be  ejected  from  their 
midst. 

This  was  not  Christianity,  thought  the  Missourian. 
No  wonder  it  sickened  men  like  Peter  Bosten.  How 
could  he,  or  any  other  level-headed,  honest  man  be 
attracted  to  such  a  farce? 

These  people  were  not  members  of  the  church  of 
God;  they  only  thought  they  were.  They  were 
scribes  and  Pharisees.  He  had  seen  it  in  their  eyes 
and  felt  it  in  the  uncomfortable  touch  of  their  hands, 
the  first  day  of  his  sojourn  in  Ladner. 

Then  who  were  the  real  members  of  the  church 
and  what  was  the  church?  Noel  asked  himself.  But 
before  answering,  he  tried  to  imagine  the  reply  Peter 
would  make,  and  there  came  into  his  mind  the  fol- 
lowing sentiments: 

"The  church  of  God  is  an  idol  that  men  have  set 
up  to  worship,  because  it  is  man's  nature  to  worship 
something.  The  good  members  of  this  or  that  church 
are  the  consistent,  honest  ones,  who  try  to  act  like 
human  beings,  rather  than  denizens  of  the  jungle. 
Their  goodness  depends  upon  the  relative  worth  of 
the  idol  set  up ;  upon  the  status  of  the  human  ideals 


120  Peter  Bosten 

cherished.  Everything,  after  all,  is  judged  accord- 
ing to  man's  reason,  and  in  proportion  as  his  reason- 
ing faculties  refine  and  develop,  does  his  'religion/ 
his  law  of  life,  improve." 

Noel  opened  his  mind  to  doubts.  He  wanted  to 
be  rid  of  thoughts  associated  with  the  hypocrisies  of 
religion,  so  he  tried  to  view  the  actions  of  man  to- 
ward his  fellows  in  the  light  of  ordinary  common 
sense.  This  mental  inclination,  he  knew,  was  termed 
"doubt,"  but  he  was  in  a  mood  to  go  a  step  or  two 
beyond  the  bounds  of  religious  convention  to-night. 

Supposing  Peter  were  right  and  he  wrong,  what 
new  light  would  an  interchange  of  beliefs  throw  upon 
the  deportment  of  Jacobs,  for  instance?  Instead  of 
"offending  the  Spirit,"  Jacobs  would  be  said  to  be 
"protecting  his  own  interests" ;  "guarding  his  pride," 
instead  of  "hardening  his  heart."  Was  there  any 
distinction,  save  in  terms? 

Noel  lost  himself  in  a  maze  of  metaphysical  spec- 
ulations, and  had  not  yet  got  back  to  his  faith  when 
he  noticed  that  unconsciously  he  had  walked  directly 
to  his  boarding  house. 

He  hesitated,  wondering  whether  he  ought  to  go 
back  to  the  church  or  not.  It  was  only  nine  o'clock. 

The  moon  offering  no  solution  to  his  problem, 
though  he  looked  at  it  hard  enough,  he  hesitated  on 
the  steps  of  the  wooden  veranda,  moved  toward  the 


A  Missionary's  Troubles  121 

sidewalk,  then  back,  and  finally  darted  into  the 
house. 

A  few  moments  later  he  emerged,  however,  and 
began  walking  in  the  direction  of  the  city's  center. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  discovered  a  letter  wait- 
ing for  him  on  the  hall  seat  and  having  found  its 
contents,  to  say  the  least,  disconcerting,  knew  his 
bedroom  would  be  a  prison,  and  betook  himself  he 
scarcely  knew  whither. 

A  kind,  thoughtful  sister  had  written  from  Petit 
City  to  inform  him,  "in  all  love  and  confidence/'  that 
a  certain  Mr.  Moore  (Billy  Moore  indeed)  was  pay- 
ing undue  attention  to  the  bishop's  younger  niece, 
Jessie,  who  was  not  averse  to  going  about  with  him 
now  and  then.  The  good  sister's  motive  in  impart- 
ing this  confidence  was  not  quite  clear;  but  then 
Noel  was  in  no  condition  of  mind  this  evening  to 
worry  about  motives.  He  was  concerned  with  con- 
crete facts,  one  of  which  was  a  motion  made  in  a 
business  meeting — . 

But  now  this  other  fact  took  precedence.  Jessie 
was  still  encouraging  Moore.  Why  did  she  persist  in 
doing  it? 

No  man  is  just  when  he  is  in  love  (or  thinks  he 
is).  Noel  did  not  take  into  consideration  his  own 
flickerings  of  fancy,  in  Nova  Scotia,  and  with  a  cer- 
tain dream  girl  on  various  launch  excursions  with 


122  Peter  Bosten 

the  fishermen.  Nor  did  he  reflect  that  a  year  is  a 
very  long  time  to  a  girl  who  has  not  the  innumerable 
duties  of  a  traveling  preacher  to  occupy  her  mind. 
Also,  he  failed  to  recollect  that  Billy  Moore  was  an 
honorable  man. 

Our  young  Missourian  wandered  toward  the  city's 
"white  lights"  disconsolately.  Passion  beat  against 
his  heart,  and  his  brain  continued  to  whirl — though 
not  with  thought.  He  was  too  wrought-up  to  think : 
he  only  felt.  His  thinking  machine  had  failed  to  run 
smoothly  earlier  in  the  evening.  Now  it  had  stopped 
altogether. 

Not  toward  the  church,  where  Mr.  Jacobs  and  his 
lieutenants  were  doubtless  still  holding  forth,  but 
toward  "theater  row"  he  drifted.  The  human  half 
of  him  was  now  in  command.  How  strong  it  should 
prove,  events  will  show. 

Listlessly  he  stopped  in  front  of  a  music  hall  to 
read  the  posters.  He  gazed,  nonchalantly,  then  he 
blinked  his  eyes  and  stared  hard.  A  familiar  name 
stood  out — or  was  he  dreaming? 

"Adele  Cressy,"  he  read,  dazedly;  "the  girl  who 
reached  fame  in  six  months." 


Peter  Courts  the  Muse  123 

CHAPTER  VII 
PETER  COURTS  THE  MUSE 

PETER  BOSTEN  had  eagerly  accepted  the  Eastern 
position,  primarily  because  he  believed  it  would  bet- 
ter his  prospects;  in  fact,  pave  the  way  to  matri- 
mony. However,  when  the  break  came  with  Helen, 
he  lost  interest  in  the  material  side  of  the  matter, 
and  went  to  New  York  solely  for  adventure.  He  had 
the  pride  of  an  ultra-independent  spirit:  he  would 
demonstrate  to  a  certain  religious  girl  that  her  pres- 
ence was  in  no  wise  necessary  to  his  existence ! 

For  a  time,  Helen's  action  had  turned  him  against 
all  members  of  her  church,  and  he  had  bitterly  de- 
scribed them  as  a  "pack  of  narrow-minded  fanatics" ; 
but  this  frame  of  mind  did  not  last.  Memories  of 
Noel  Crayne,  President  Stern  and  others  were  too 
vivid.  .  .  . 

The  Kansan  was  now  a  newspaper  reporter  on 
Park  Row,  or  "Newspaper  Row,"  one  of  the  greatest 
news  centers  in  the  world. 

It  happened  thus.  He  found,  on  the  advertising 
staff  of  the  Brooklyn  daily,  that  here  was  the  same 
old  meaningless  grind  he  had  known  in  the  Petit 
City  electrical  office.  Nothing  mattered  but  "getting 
business" ;  that  is  to  say,  Money. 


124  Peter  Bosten 

Peter  saw  better  prospects  here,  of  course,  of  se- 
curing the  Desirable  Thing :  but  now  he  had  no  mo- 
tive. There  were  no  longer  a  love  and  a  home  to 
consider.  And  of  what  use  was  money  except  to 
retain  the  one  and  maintain  the  other? 

The  Kansan's  was  a  peculiar,  though  typical,  na- 
ture. He  did  nothing  by  halves.  When  he  had  loved 
Helen  he  had  loved  her  with  all  his  heart.  But  now 
that  she  was  cut  off  from  him,  by  an  act  of  her  own, 
he  endeavored  to  put  her  entirely  out  of  mind ;  and 
was  more  successful  than  the  average  man  would 
have  been.  However,  the  process  had  involved  a 
change  in  his  sentimental  nature.  Women  did  not 
appeal  to  him  any  more.  Had  he  been  blessed  with 
the  society  of  a  mother  and  sisters,  their  influence 
would  have  tended  to  moderate  this  change  in  him. 
But  he  was  without  them,  and  so  he  became  cynical 
about  love. 

Yet,  having  felt  something  go  out  of  his  life, 
naturally  he  cast  about  him  for  a  substitute.  This, 
such  as  it  was,  he  found  in  New  York  more  readily 
than  he  would  have  done  anywhere  else  in  America. 
He  returned  to  his  old  love,  the  books,  of  which  the 
Manhattan  libraries  supplied  him  with  a  great  vari- 
ety. Also,  he  enjoyed  many  of  the  newspaper  edi- 
torials ;  and  it  was  under  their  spell,  perhaps,  more 
than  any  other  that  he  first  conceived  a  desire  to 


Peter  Courts  the  Muse  125 

write.  It  was  born  of  a  conviction  (egotistical  it 
may  have  been)  that  he  had  something  to  say. 

This  was  about  three  months  after  his  arrival  in 
the  East. 

Characteristically,  he  lost  interest  in  the  advertis- 
ing business  forthwith  and  began  searching  for  some 
sort  of  journalistic  work.  In  a  short  time,  by  reason 
of  his  speed  in  shorthand,  he  obtained  a  position 
on  one  of  the  big  dailies,  in  the  editorial  department, 
and  went  to  work  with  might  and  main  to  learn  the 
art  of  writing. 

However,  as  the  days  and  weeks  went  by,  he  dis- 
covered that  a  stenographer  was  by  no  means  a 
writer.  Particularly  was  this  true  of  a  stenographer 
on  Park  Row,  where  the  mass  of  daily  routine  was 
so  great  that  one  had  to  work  nights,  frequently,  to 
make  any  headway  at  all. 

Nor  were  editors  the  romantic  fellows  Peter  had 
supposed  them  to  be.  They  chewed  cigars  and 
cursed  copiously,  most  of  them.  Some  of  them  were 
most  intemperate.  How  they  contrived  to  turn  out 
such  elevating  editorials  was  a  mystery  to  him.  Per- 
haps the  reaction  from  their  daily  spiritual  dissipa- 
tion came  in  the  evening,  and  they  thought  lofty 
thoughts  merely  for  recreation. 

Of  course,  he  was  not  in  very  close  touch  with  the 
greatest  ones.  They  were  more  powerful  than  kings 


126  Peter  Bosten 

in  their  realms,  and  might  not  be  approached  entirely 
without  ceremony.  When  a  mere  stenographer  did 
find  himself  in  their  presence  he  was  apt  to  shiver 
a  little — until  he  discovered  their  pet  failing:  after 
which  he  was  able  to  study  them  to  advantage. 

For  a  few  months  the  Kansan  had  been  sufficiently 
interested  in  his  environment  to  keep  to  the  steno- 
graphic grind;  but  when  he  fully  realized  that  jour- 
nalism was  coming  no  nearer  to  him  by  this  means, 
he  begged  to  be  transferred  to  the  reportoria1!  staff. 
The  man  to  whom  he  first  made  the  suggestion  was 
himself  a  reporter;  one  of  the  happy-go-lucky  type, 
versatile,  humorous,  good-hearted,  and  leaning  to- 
ward cynicism.  He  looked  at  the  Kansan  a  moment 
in  silence,  a  satirical  smile  beginning  to  play  with  his 
mouth. 

"My  dear  fellow/'  he  said,  after  some  reflection, 
"I  have  been  watching  you,  and  I  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  here,  at  last,  was  a  man  who'd  resist 
the  virus  successfully.  Is  it  possible  that,  after  the 
failures  you've  seen  around  here,  myself  included, 
you  want  to  step  on  the  trapdoor  yourself?" 

Whereat  the  sophisticated  one  turned  away,  mur- 
muring profanely  about  "cubs,"  "bugs"  and  other 
members  of  the  lower  creation. 

But  no  healthy  Kansan  ever  allows  the  failures 


I 

Peter  Courts  the  Muse  127 

and  prejudices  of  others  to  frighten  him.  Besides, 
Peter  was  a  logician. 

" Because  these  chaps  have  not  succeeded  is  no 
proof  that  I  shall  not,"  he  mused. 

His  determination  won  the  day  for  him,  eventually. 
Of  course,  his  salary  as  a  reporter  was  not  so  much 
as  a  good  stenographer's;  but  think  of  the  oppor- 
tunities for  advancement! 

Peter  began  the  "rounds."  At  first  it  was  instruc- 
tive work.  The  activities  of  four  million  human  be- 
ings, crowded  into  smaller  space  than  would  satisfy 
a  respectable  herd  of  cattle,  could  not  but  be  inter- 
esting. Nay,  they  were  more  than  this  to  the  Kan- 
san.  The  goings  and  comings  of  these  creatures,  so 
diverse  in  face  and  form;  their  fierce  struggle  for 
existence,  their  wiles  and  machinations,  enthralled 
him — finally  oppressed  him. 

He  contrasted  this  abnormal,  huddled  existence 
with  life  on  the  Kansas  plains.  How  little  these 
wretched  children  of  the  Ghetto  knew  of  life !  The 
health  officers  said  of  certain  sections  that  half  the 
boys  and  girls  who  grew  up  were  diseased  of  body 
and  the  other  half  diseased  of  mind. 

Peter  tried  to  reconcile  the  lives  of  these  beings 
with  his  theory  of  evolution,  but  was  aware  of  a 
conundrum  somewhere.  His  mind  traveled  back  to 
President  Stern's  sermon  at  the  General  Conference, 


128  Peter  Bosten 

and  he  remembered  the  impression  of  the  missing 
link.  Here  it  was  again. 

"The  limitations  of  mortal  mind,"  he  soliloquized. 
"Both  the  believer  and  the  unbeliever  come  to  the 
Gulf,  which  the  former  bridges  with  faith — and  the 
latter  leaves  unbridged." 

The  Kansan  sighed  as  he  picked  his  steps  along 
the  filthy  streets  of  the  East  Side,  searching  for 
something  horrible  to  tell  his  city  editor. 

The  thought  of  it  disgusted  him.  He  who  felt  in 
his  soul  a  yearning  to  express  great  things;  set 
down  as  no  one  had  ever  done  before  the  mighty  con- 
trast between  this  ghastly  Ghetto  and  life  under  the 
Western  skies ;  must  crawl  about  the  slums,  like  the 
rat-eyed  Bowery  ghoul,  searching  for  sensations,  for 
filth. 

One  day  he  communicated  his  impressions  to  the 
city  editor,  and  the  latter,  after  regarding  him  in- 
tently a  moment,  replied : 

"Third  Avenue  is  just  as  respectable  as  Fifth,  if 
not  more  so.  May  be  a  little  more  dirt  there,  of  the 
material  kind,  but  there  is  not  more  robbery,  crime, 
immorality.  I'd  rather  deal  with  one  of  those  fish- 
daubed  old  Jews  at  Williamsburg  Bridge  than  most 
of  your  fashion  plates  around  Times  Square." 

This  was  the  first  time  the  city  editor  had  shown 
signs  of  being  human.  Usually  he  was  merely  a 


Peter  Courts  the  Muse  129 

machine.    Peter  was  interested  in  the  phenomenon, 
and  had  a  momentary  sense  of  inferiority. 

"But  I  was  thinking  of  this  news  game,"  he  re- 
turned. "Why  do  the  papers  go  after  shame  and 
scandal  with  such  an  appetite?" 

"Because,"  came  the  reply,  which,  however,  did 
not  interfere  with  some  leaders  the  editor  was  writ- 
ing, "the  public  demand  it.  We've  got  to  be  just  as 
sensation-loving  as  they  are." 

Impulsively  the  Kansan  answered :  "I  don't  believe 
it.  I  think  the  newspapers  ought  to  lead  the  way. 
Besides,  we're  working  on  a  wrong  hypothesis.  We 
assume  that  all  the  people  want  this  slime  and  scum. 
I  know  that  is  not  the  case.  We  cater  to  the  lower 
forms,  the  unfit  ones.  We  are  mighty  poor  evolu- 
tionists, if  you  ask  me." 

The  editor  laughed  as  he  continued  to  write  lead- 
ers. 

"I  agree  with  you.  But  you  and  I  are  of  no  ac- 
count. I  advise  you  to  interview  the  Business  Man- 
ager." 

Another  time  Peter  went  to  his  "chief"  and  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  come  "inside,"  as  a  "write-up" 
man;  but  the  city  editor  was  in  a  bad  humor  and 
sarcastically  observed  that  "a  cub  from  Kansas  can't 
learn  all  about  Babylon  in  a  few  months,  and  had 


130  Peter  Bosten 

better  know  something  of  real  life  before  gabbling 
about  it." 

This  remark  acted  as  a  stimulus  to  the  Kansan. 
He  decided  to  continue  on  his  "run"  for  a  while 
longer. 

In  the  evenings  he  began  writing  articles  and  verse 
embodying  his  observations,  and  reflections  based 
upon  them.  His  mind  had  always  been  of  a  serious 
turn,  and  now,  as  a  "writer,"  instead  of  the  glamor, 
he  limned  the  shade.  Others  had  waxed  eloquent 
upon  the  pleasures  of  New  York,  its  wealth,  fashion 
and  allurements.  He  preferred  to  consider  its  pain, 
and  endeavor  to  express  the  flood  of  thoughts  sight 
of  that  pain  inspired. 

Peter  realized  that  these  writings  of  his  were 
crude.  Comparison  with  the  smooth  style  of  maga- 
zine and  newspaper  articles  convinced  him  of  that. 
But  he  believed  his  thoughts  were  original,  and  knew 
that  constant  practice  would  help  him  put  them  in 
respectable  form. 

Sunday  came  to  be  a  day  of  toil.  Although  he 
knew  there  was  a  small  "branch"  of  Noel's  church 
in  Brooklyn,  the  Kansan  did  not  attend.  In  the  first 
place,  he  dreaded  the  memories  that  such  attendance 
would  call  back  to  him.  There  was  a  certain  spirit- 
ual or  psychologic  potentiality  about  the  congrega- 
tions of  this  church  that  would,  he  knew,  remind  him 


Peter  Courts  the  Muse  131 

of  Helen  Dyke  and  the  happy  times  spent  in  Petit 
City.  This  he  desired  to  avoid. 

The  chief  pleasures  surrounding  his  sojourn  in 
the  East  thus  far  were  three  letters  from  Noel ;  two 
from  Nova  Scotia  and  one  from  Maine.  Peter  had 
read  them  over  many  times,  neglecting,  however,  to 
reply  to  the  last.  His  intentions  had  been,  and  still 
were,  good ;  but  now  that  his  time  was  occupied  with 
writing  essays  he  had  less  inclination  than  ever  for 
putting  thought  into  such  ephemeral  things  as  let- 
ters. Moreover,  the  missionary's  address  was  still 
changing,  no  doubt;  and  mail  might  not  reach  him 
at  all 

One  Sunday  afternoon  in  May,  <a  year  since  his 
coming  to  New  York,  the  Kansan  sat  staring  over 
an  unfinished  manuscript  on  his  rented  typewriter, 
musing  on  the  singular  emptiness  of  life  these  days ; 
when  a  picture  rose  before  his  imagination,  lifting 
him  out  of  his  immediate  surroundings. 

He  thought  he  saw  an  immense  crowd  gathered  in 
Madison  Square  Gardens,  around  a  gaudily  clad  fig- 
ure that  gesticulated  vigorously.  In  his  fancy  he 
moved  closer,  and  discovered  that  the  faces  of  the 
throng  were  twisted  with  laughter.  There  were  well- 
dressed  individuals,  of  various  ages  and  nationalities ; 
indeed,  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  The  central 
figure  turned  out  to  be  a  quack  and  a  juggler.  He 


132  Peter  Bosten 

performed  all  sorts  of  feats,  dancing  and  grimacing 
fantastically.  At  each  new  move  the  crowd  burst 
into  another  roar  of  laughter.  Peter  could  hear  the 
sound  of  it  rumble  and  die  away. 

Suddenly  the  picture  changed.  The  charlatan  dis- 
appeared, as  if  by  his  own  magic,  and  in  his  place 
rose  a  figure  in  white,  with  a  thoughtful  face.  Peter 
thought  he  recognized  Adam  Stern;  but  presently 
he  saw  there  were  points  of  facial  dissimilarity, 
though  a  certain  general  likeness  remained. 

The  laughter  gradually  faded  from  the  faces  of 
the  throng,  and  one  by  one  they  began  to  move  away ; 
some  in  scorn,  others  apparently  in  fear.  Ere  the 
speaker  had  uttered  many  words,  all  but  a  few 
ragged  women  and  children  and  one  man  had  for- 
saken the  place. 

Then  a  light  descended  upon  the  head  of  the  figure 
in  white,  and  stepping  down  from  his  elevation, 
which  proved  to  be  a  rock,  he  gathered  his  few  hear- 
ers about  his  knee,  took  a  loaf  of  bread  from  his 
girdle,  and  began  ministering  to  their  needs.  Thus 
the  vision  faded.  .  .  . 

Peter  experienced  the  old  thrill  that  he  had  known, 
on  many  occasions,  in  Petit  City;  and  his  soul  was 
lost  in  wonder. 

It  occurred  to  him  to  tear  up  the  manuscript  on 
his  typewriter  and  set  down  what  had  so  mysteri- 


Peter  Courts  the  Muse  133 

ously  come  into  his  fancy;  but  remembering  a  criti- 
cism of  the  city  editor's :  that  he  was  too  imaginative 
to  make  a  success  of  newspaper  work :  he  decided  to 
grind  out  the  rest  of  his  article  and  not  be  ruled 
entirely  by  fancyings. 

Nevertheless  he  could  not  quite  rid  his  mind  of 
the  picture.  It  remained  with  him  vividly  for  many 
days.  Particularly  when  night  fell  and  the  great 
metropolis  blazed  out  in  its  artificial  glory,  did  he 
recall  the  figure  in  Madison  Park,  and  the  actions  of 
the  crowd. 

What  bearing  did  this  fancy,  which  Peter  con- 
ceived to  be  true  to  life,  have  upon  the  evolution  of 
mankind?  Was  there  an  element  in  human  nature 
that  was  for  ever  at  enmity  against  Truth,  in  one 
age  as  in  another ;  and  if  so,  could  earthly  influences 
alone  ever  eradicate  it? 

Did  the  actions  of  the  mob  for  ever  characterize 
the  attitude  of  carnal  man,  in  other  worlds  and  eons 
past  as  now ;  and  the  condescension  of  the  Figure  in 
White  typify  the  love  and  mercy  of  what  religionists 
called  "God"?  Was  there  a  gulf  between  the  two 
that  the  theory  of  evolution  might  never  fill  ? 

In  his  heart  the  Kansan  sympathized  with  the 
White  Figure  and  those  who  hearkened  to  him.  The 
grimacing  rabble,  with  their  love  of  tricks  and  folly, 
were  despicable  beyond  words.  They  were  the 


134  Peter  Bosten 

worms  of  earth  who  demanded  idle  pleasures,  de- 
praved sensations.  His  soul  hated  them.  What  part 
of  creation,  he  asked  himself,  did  they  represent? 

His  intellect  referred  the  question  to  Civilization. 
Whose  ideals  were  more  truly  represented  in  the 
present  state  of  society:  the  mob's  or  the  White 
Figure's  V 

The  reporter  covered  several  of  his  "runs,"  in 
fancy.  He  saw  destitution,  prostitution,  damnation 
on  every  hand.  Moving  westward  three  blocks,  he 
was  confronted  by  the  marble  halls  of  commerce  and 
culture:  the  highest  representation  of  human 
achievement  (according  to  Society's  valuation). 

He  entered  the  marble  halls  and  looked  about  him. 
The  stairways  were  of  polished  white  stone.  From 
a  distance  they  shone  with  artificial  splendor.  But 
moving  closer  he  caught  reflections  in  their  surface 
that  froze  his  heart.  The  victims-  of  civilization  lay 
there,  mangled,  crucified  on  the  tiltar  of  human  greed, 
mortal  lust.  They  were  ghastly.  Peter  shuddered 
and  turned  away. 

All  this  work  of  man  was  the  work  of  devils.  No 
wonder  people  of  sincerity  clove  to  thought  of  God 
and  believed  in  future  punishment. 

But  here  the  Kansan  halted  himself.  He  believed 
he  was  being  carried  away  by  an  attractive  illusion. 
The  conditions  his  vision  had  shown  him  existed, 


Peter  Courts  the  Muse  135 

true  enough ;  but  the  religionist's  was  not  the  logical 
remedy.  .  .  . 

Toward  the  end  of  May,  the  city  editor  came  to 
Peter  one  morning  and  asked  him  whether  he  would 
prefer  being  a  "small  toad  in  a  big  puddle  or  the 
reverse."  Peter  expressed  surprise  that  so  busy  and 
practical  a  man  as  his  chief  should  talk  in  riddles; 
but  ignoring  the  remark  the  city  editor  went  on  to 
say  that  a  certain  small  puddle  called  Ladner,  New 
Jersey,  was,  he  happened  to  know,  in  need  of  a  "good 
newspaperman." 

"An  old  college  friend  of  mine  is  editor  in  chief 
of  the  Evening  Globe  there,  and  he  wants  some  one 
who  can  do  a  little  of  his  private  work  and  learn  to 
write  editorials.  Now  this  is  a  chance  for  you,  Bos- 
ten,  if  you've  got  the  literary  bee  very  bad." 

Peter  was  profuse  in  his  thanks.  He  had  not  been 
anticipating  such  good  fortune. 

"But,"  he  said,  on  second  thought,  "do  you  think 
I'll  be  able  to  fill  the  place?" 

His  chief  waved  the  doubt  aside. 

"All  you've  got  to  do,"  he  returned,  almost  impa- 
tiently, "is  to  avoid  the  use  of  the  double  negative, 
cross  your  t's  and  dot  your  i's.  No  one  writes  litera- 
ture these  days.  Anyway,  you  can  bluff  your  way 
through — as  the  rest  of  us  do.  We  are  a  bunch  of 
funny  little  egotists,  the  whole  lot  of  us.  Why, 


136  Peter  Bosten 

haven't  you  heard  that  our  religious  editor  can't  do 
a  thing  until  he's  taken  his  tea?" 

A  wire  was  sent  to  the  Ladner  Globe,  stating  that 
a  competent  man  had  been  found,  and  Peter  took 
leave  of  Park  Row. 

He  had  not  realized  till  now  that  he  was  attached 
to  the  place.  The  "boys"  were  unique  characters, 
many  of  them.  They  considered  themselves  the  salt 
of  the  earth ;  although  their  savor  was  not  -always 
healthful.  Peter  had  never  chummed  with  any  of 
them ;  but  his  casual  associations  with  them  had  been 
both  pleasant  and  educational. 

Before  taking  his  leave  he  ascended  to  the  summit 
of  one  of  the  down-town  skyscrapers  and  gave  Man- 
hattan a  final  scrutiny. 

The  shining  streaks  of  light  that  were  streets  and 
avenues,  swarmed  with  life.  How  like  insects  were 
these  creatures,  "made  in  the  image  of  God,"  as  they 
believed!  They  swarmed  in  and  out  of  the  office 
buildings  exactly  like  ants. 

Peter  had  been  sympathizing,  more  or  less,  with 
the  religionists'  viewpoint  of  late.  His  mental  habit 
of  subjecting  everything  to  the  test  of  incredulity 
made  him  doubt  the  "world"  just  as  honestly  as  he 
doubted  the  "church."  In  Petit  City  he  had  analyzed 
the  ways  of  the  sincerest  believers  he  had  ever 
known, — with  keenest  scrutiny.  His  mind  had  in- 


Peter  Courts  the  Muse  137 

clined  toward  the  ultra-agnostic  view  in  the  presence 
of  excessive  faith.  But  in  New  York,  away  from 
religious  influences,  constantly  in  contact  with  the 
worldly,  his  mental  processes  had  been  working  in 
the  direction  of  the  opposite  of  worldly — the  "godly." 

Yet  now,  as  he  stood  looking  down  upon  this  great 
city,  almost  from  the  clouds,  and  conceived  of  man's 
likeness  to  the  creeping  things  of  earth,  his  mind 
could  not  possibly  compass  Noel  Crayne's  conception 
of  the  Almighty. 

Were  not  those  insects  down  there  but  an  insig- 
nificant part  of  the  universe's  evolution?  Their  re- 
ligions, their  ideals — in  the  sum  of  things,  what  did 
they  matter? — any  more  than  mattered  the  aspira- 
tions of  the  ant? 

Could  any  reasonable  man  conceive  of  a  God  little 
enough  to  interfere  in  the  individual  operations  of 
these  infinitesimal  beings ;  to  take  a  handful  of  them 
unto  himself  as  "chosen  ones,"  and  champion  their 
cause  against  other  handfuls? 

The  Kansan  sighed,  under  the  burden  of  the 
thought,  and  continued  to  gaze  at  what  he  could  not 
comprehend. 


138  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  VIII 

INVOLVING  AN  ACTRESS 

NOEL  stood  gazing  at  the  theatrical  announcement, 
without  really  seeing  it.  The  performance  would 
now  be  going  on.  Adele  Cressy  would  be  singing,  in 
that  mellow  though  tempestuous  voice  of  hers,  and 
smiling  at  fascinated  strangers. 

The  missionary  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  few  coins 
he  knew  were  there,  and  mechanically  approached 
the  box  office. 

"How  much  are  your  rush  seats?"  he  asked. 

"Twenty-five  cents,"  came  the  reply,  accompanied 
by  a  grin. 

But  suddenly  the  face  of  the  ticket  vender  turned 
scarlet.  Obviously  he  recognized  the  "customer"  and 
repented  of  his  grin. 

"Give  me  one ,"  Noel  was  saying,  when  inter- 
rupted. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  will  you  accept  the 
compliments  of  the  house?  You  are  Mr.  Crayne,  are 
you  not?  I  have  heard  you  preach." 

It  was  Noel's  turn  to  blush. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said;  and  being  unable  to  make 
any  more  comprehensive  remark,  added:  "very 
much."  After  which  it  seemed  to  him  the  only  thing 


Involving  an  Actress  139 

to  do  was  to  enter  the  theater;  and  that  is  what  he 
did,  without  further  hesitation. 

He  was  shown  to  a  seat  on  the  left  aisle  in  the 
second  row  of  the  orchestra.  "The  Prince  of  Pilsen" 
was  playing.  He  had  come  in  just  before  the  "Vio- 
lets" song. 

A  moment  after  he  took  his  seat  action  was  cleared 
for  that  duet,  and  the  love  scene  surrounding  it ;  and 
a  vision  appeared  that  made  his  heart  thump  ab- 
surdly. 

Noel  did  not  see  the  "juvenile  lead"  at  all.  The 
light  baritone  might  just  as  well  have  been  back  in 
one  of  the  property  trunks,  for  all  he  mattered  to  the 
Missourian.  Noel's  eyes  were  fixed  on  Adele — sadly 
"made  up,"  but  still  Adele — and  he  was  hoping  she 
would  not  see  him.  Why  had  that  box-office  man 
recognized  him?  The  gallery  would  have  been  a 
much  safer  place  than  down  here. 

The  stage  lover  came  into  existence  for  Noel  on 
the  second  line  of  his  song.  Unquestionably  he  had  a 
good  voice,  and  was  singing,  too,  with  reasonable 
expression.  He  almost  seemed  to  mean  it. 

However  he  did  not  hold  the  missionary  longer 
than  a  minute,  in  spite  of  his  powers.  Adele  Cressy, 
a  girl  who  had  learned  to  sing  in  prayer  meetings, 
was  there  on  the  stage.  She  was  being  featured  on 
the  bill  as  having  won  music-hall  fame  in  a  few 


140  Peter  Bosten 

months.  The  audience  was  waiting  for  her  to  an- 
swer the  baritone-tenor. 

As  part  of  the  "business"  of  the  scene,  Adele  had 
to  move  upstage  between  the  verse  of  her  "answer" 
and  the  chorus.  It  was  while  doing  this,  her  tones 
still  ringing  in  Noel's  ears,  that  she  saw  him. 

He  was  glad  recognition  had  not  come  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  verse,  for  Adele  was  evidently  affected  by 
sight  of  him.  Why  she  should  bite  her  lips  thus  and 
clench  her  little  hands  was  more  or  less  of  a  mystery 
to  him.  A  second  later,  of  course,  she  smiled:  and 
then  "took"  the  refrain  as  a  solo. 

While  their  eyes  were  still  in  communication  she 
began  the  "Message  of  the  Violet,"  in  a  voice  suffi- 
ciently unsteady  to  be  convincing;  and  while  the 
legitimate  "business"  of  her  act  required  that  she 
sing  to  the  stage  lover,  Adele  took  liberties:  and 
Noel  Crayne  knew  to  whom  she  was  singing. 

He  could  feel  the  perspiration  stand  out  on  his 
palms  as  the  significance  of  her  tones  reached  him. 
The  glances  she  stole  from  her  make-believe  lover 
and  bestowed  upon  the  real  one,  burned  into  the  Mis- 
sourian's  heart  as  nothing  human  had  ever  done. 

The  chorus  was  simple;  over-"popular"  in  fact; 
but  there  was  a  certain  natural  beauty  about  it  that 
"held."  And  when  Adele  ascended  to  a  third  repeti- 
tion of  the  phrase  that  burdens  so  many  songs,  "I 


Involving  an  Actress  141 

love  you,"  putting  all  the  charm  of  her  voice  and  per- 
sonality into  it,  the  effect  was  unquestionably  thrill- 
ing. 

A  great  uproar  of  applause  came  down  upon  her, 
but  she  only  "took"  one  curtain  call.  Nor  did  any- 
one in  the  house,  except  the  Missourian,  know  why. 
An  usher  handed  him  a  note  from  her,  entreating 
him  to  corne  back  behind  the  scenes  at  once. 

As  he  cared  nothing  for  the  performance  itself 
and  was  just  as  eager  to  see  Adele  as  she  was  to  see 
him,  he  followed  the  usher  out,  and  was  directed  to 
the  stage  door,  down  an  alley. 

The  doorkeeper  "passed  him"  with  a  grunt,  and 
he  found  himself  in  the  most  dismal  place  imagin- 
able. It  reminded  him  of  an  old  granary  in  which 
he  had  played,  on  his  uncle's  farm,  as  a  boy. 

One  of  the  chorus  girls  found  him  wandering  along 
a  blind  passage  in  search  of  the  Star,  and  kindly 
showed  him  the  direction  to  go  (showering  his  black 
coat  with  powder,  in  the  act) . 

He  rapped  at  a  door  on  which  was  pasted  a  gilded 
star,  but  was  not  told  to  enter.  Light  steps  ap- 
proached, from  within,  the  door  opened  suddenly, 
and  before  he  knew  it  he  had  been  kissed  (and  again 
daubed  with  talcum) . 

She  drew  him  inside  and  sat  down  with  her  arm 
about  him,  in  the  manner  of  actresses.  Yet,  strange 


142  Peter  Bosten 

to  relate,  Noel  was  not  shocked.  The  environment 
seemed  to  demand  some  such  welcome.  Besides,  the 
genuine  light  of  happiness  and  friendship  in  Adele's 
shining  eyes  dissipated  all  superficial  impressions. 

There  seemed  to  be  so  much  to  say,  and  time  was 
so  limited,  that  they  satisfied  themselves,  for  the 
moment,  with  casual  remarks.  Adele  had  made  her 
change  of  costume  and  dismissed  her  maid,  but  was 
expecting  to  be  "called"  any  moment. 

"Don't  you  dare  to  leave  this  dressing  room,"  she 
said,  hearing  the  expected  call,  "until  I  come  back. 
And  make  up  your  mind  right  now  that  we  are  going 
to  have  dinner  together  after  the  show." 

With  that  she  disappeared,  leaving  Noel  to  his 
thoughts.  These,  however,  were  a  sorry  jumble. 
Jessie  Kirkton,  the  Jacobses,  the  box-office  man, 
Adele,  an  usher,  and  the  "message  of  the  violets" 
formed  innumerable  and  impossible  combinations  in 
his  brain.  Moreover,  this  dressing  room  added  its 
distractions.  He  saw  before  him  uncounted  devices 
for  improving  on  nature  and  tickling  the  fancy  of 
man.  Here  he  came  to  a  halt,  wondering  how  many 
admirers  Adele  had.  Did  she  kiss  them  all,  as  she 
had  him?  If  Jessie  knew  about  this  unconvention- 
ality  what  would  she  think? 

But  at  this  point  Billy  Moore  came  on  the  scene 
(Noel  was  already  thinking  in  stage  terms),  and 


Involving  an  Actress  143 

sang  a  song  to  the  bishop's  niece.  Perhaps  at  this 
very  moment  he  was  doing  so,  in  reality.  It  might  be 
nothing  more  dangerous  than  an  anthem  (some  of 
which,  Noel  reflected  with  a  grin,  were  dangerous 
enough  to  the  reason)  ;  but  even  so,  it  would  be  ac- 
accompanied  by  sympathetic  looks:  and  in  turning 
the  page  their  hands  might  come  in  contact. 

Alas!  these  were  the  thoughts  that  played  upon 
the  surface  of  the  missionary's  mind.  But  who  of 
us,  however  holy,  can  justly  criticize  him?  Have  we 
not,  in  spite  of  our  ideals,  been  swept  along  in  the 
tide  of  our  desires,  sometimes  even  into  the  rapids — 
and  beyond  ? 

The  thing  we  call  Love,  imperfectly  known  to  us 
as  it  is,  dominates  our  lives  at  times  against  the 
influence  of  all  the  noble  faculties;  bearing  us  on- 
ward first  in  our  fancies  and  then  in  reality.  It 
changes  its  face  until  we  can  not  recognize  it,  and 
we  mistake  the  illusion  for  the  fact.  It  contradicts 
itself,  makes  hypocrites  and  fools  of  us  often  when 
we  are  most  sincere;  and  brings  perhaps  as  much 
pain  as  pleasure,  on  the  whole. 

One  of  the  forms  this  mortal  passion  takes  is 
jealousy:  with  which  the  Missourian  was  even  now, 
unconsciously  indeed,  having  trouble.  His  regard 
for  Jessie,  of  whatever  nature  it  was,  had  been  at 


144  Peter  Bosten 

least  temporarily  altered  by  the  message  he  had  re- 
ceived from  a  Petit  City  gossip. 

This  may  seem  unworthy  of  a  hero  of  romance, 
particularly  of  a  religious  romance ;  but  perhaps  the 
author  had  better  declare,  at  this  juncture,  that  he 
is  writing  about  men,  not  angels. 

Noel's  love  for  Jessie  was,  when  all  is  told,  merely 
human.  All  that  pertains  to  this  mortal  body  is  nec- 
essarily human.  It  may  have  been,  and  doubtless 
was,  above  the  average  affection ;  but  for  all  that,  it 
was  somewhat  faltering  in  its  development,  and  not 
impervious  at  this  stage,  to  influences  that  sway  all 
lovers,  of  every  degree. 

He  was  and  always  had  been  aware  of  a  certain 
attachment  between  Jessie  and  Billy  Moore.  That  it 
was  not  equal  to  her  love  for  him,  Noel  devoutly 
believed.  But  it  was  only  natural  that  he  should 
accuse  himself  of  egotism  in  this  regard  occasionally. 
Truer  lovers  than  he  had  deceived  themselves  before 
now. 

Thought  of  his  religion  moderated  his  doubts,  of 
course.  But,  in  the  last  analysis,  was  he  positive 
that  this  attachment  had  the  divine  sanction?  Might 
not  he,  and  other  members  of  the  church,  claim  too 
much  of  a  monopoly  of  God's  favor — as  Peter  Bosten 
had  often  hinted?  Who  was  he,  Noel  Crayne,  that 
the  Lord  should  make  a  pet  of  him  ? 


Involving  an  Actress  145 

The  question  was  repeating  itself  in  his  mind  when 
Adele  came  back  from  the  footlights. 

"Now  I've  another  precious  minute,"  she  declared, 
coming  close  to  him  again.  "Dear  old  fellow,"  she 
cried,  in  the  next  breath,  "I  can't  seem  to  get  used 
to  you!" 

He  returned  the  pressure  of  her  hands,  and  was 
aware  that  in  so  doing  he  both  received  and  imparted 
pleasure. 

"In  spite  of  your  make-up,  Adele,"  he  answered, 
"you  look  great." 

He  was  the  only  man  she  knew  who  used  that  little 
adjective  with  any  significance;  but  she  did  not  tell 
him  so  now. 

"You  will  have  to  step  outside  a  moment,"  she 
said,  "while  I  make  a  change.  Drop  in  on  Mr.  Clear, 
across  the  hall,  number  four,  and  make  yourself 
acquainted.  Come  back  in  five  minutes." 

Noel  did  as  commanded,  and  found  that  Mr.  Clear 
was  the  baritone-tenor.  The  Missourian  congratu- 
lated him  on  his  singing,  after  saying  that  Miss 
Cressy  had  sent  him;  and  the  actor  was  obviously 
pleased.  Noel  had  heard  that  musical-comedy  artists 
never  tired  of  praise.  He  thought  it  probable  in 
dear's  case,  anyway. 

"So  you're  an  old  friend  of  Adele's,  eh?"  said  the 


146  Peter  Bosten 

actor,  a  trifle  patronizingly.  "Well,  that  makes  you 
my  friend  too." 

Mr.  Clear  went  on  to  say  what  a  wonderful  girl 
she  was.  He  conveyed  the  impression,  too,  that  no 
man  "in  the  business"  had  succeeded  in  making 
much  headway  in  her  affections  except  himself 
(Clear).  At  which  remark  the  Missourian  took 
secret  offense,  for  some  psychologic  reason. 

"How  do  you  like  him?"  Adele  asked,  when  he 
returned. 

"Not  much,"  said  Noel,  with  true  Western  frank- 
ness. 

Adele  laughed,  oddly. 

"You  always  were  hard  to  please,  Noel." 

She  accompanied  the  assertion  with  a  half -bash- 
ful glance  that  carried  the  missionary  back  to  old 
scenes,  and  seemed  decidedly  out  of.  harmony  with 
her  false  complexion. 

When  leaving  him  this  time  she  gave  him  some 
photographs  of  herself  for  his  entertainment,  and 
when  she  came  back  he  had  made  a  rough  sketch  of 
one  of  them,  which  she  detected  him  trying  to  con- 
ceal in  his  coat. 

"Oh  do  give  it  to  me,"  she  coaxed.  "You  can  have 
the  original  if  you  like.  I  don't  mean  myself,"  she 
laughed  apologetically,  giving  him  a  shy  look. 

He  was  putting  a  finishing  touch  to  the  sketch. 


Involving  an  Actress  147 

"It's  too  crude,  Adele,"  he  said,  glancing  from  the 
paper  to  her  face.  "Both  the  photograph  and  the 
sketch  are  bad." 

While  she  was  scrutinizing  the  latter,  he  began: 
"Do  you  remember ?"  But  she  interrupted : 

"No — you  mustn't  use  up  any  of  our  pleasure  in 
advance,  Noel.  Save  it  for  dinner  to-night — and  the 
other  nights." 

His  rumbling  bass  reverberated  for  the  first  time 
during  the  evening. 

"You're  the  same  girl,"  he  said,  looking  at  her 
admiringly.  "I  can't  associate  you  permanently  with 
this  place  and  the  theatrical  profession." 

"Can  you  imagine  me  earning  three  hundred  a 
week?"  she  asked,  smiling  at  the  effect  of  her  ques- 
tion. 

The  next  moment  she  was  gone,  and  the  mission- 
ary was  multiplying  his  mother's  monthly  allowance 
by  fifteen  to  make  it  equal  Adele' s  salary  for  one 
week.  Not  that  the  money  meant  anything  to  him : 
but  he  always  liked  working  at  puzzles. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  By  now  the  business 
meeting  would  be  out,  most  likely.  And  how  had  it 
terminated,  he  wondered? 

Noel  did  not  doubt  that  T.  T.  Jacobs  and  Company 
had  been  cried  down;  but  he  was  curious  to  know 
what  liberties  had  been  taken  with  his  character  in 


148  Peter  Bosten 

his  absence.  That  there  were  petty  jealousies 
against  him  in  the  branch  he  was  aware.  These  had 
been  a  thorn  in  his  flesh.  But  that  they  would  mani- 
fest themselves  to  any  extent  in  the  present  situa- 
tion he  could  not  imagine. 

The  performance  over,  Mr.  Clear  approached 
A  dele's  dressing  room,  passing  the  Missourian  in  the 
corridor  without  appearing  to  notice  him,  and  en- 
tered unannounced.  But  a  second  later  he  came  out 
agiain  and  went  away  muttering  something  about 
"fastidious  people."  Adele  explained  to  her  old 
friend  that  theatrical  men  were  hard  to  endure  and 
harder  to  educate.  Noel  observed  the  heightened 
color  with  which  she  said  it,  but  did  not  ask  any 
questions. 

As  they  walked  up  the  alley,  Adele  holding  him  by 
the  arm,  the  Missourian  was  conscious  of  subtle 
pleasure  and  a  peculiar  sense  of  pride.  He  wondered 
if  the  well-dressed  throng  in  front  of  the  theater 
would  recognize  the  leading  lady  and  envy  her  escort. 

Adele  hailed  a  taxi,  (the  while  Noel  secretly  felt 
in  his  vest  pocket  for  a  bank  note  that  had  once  been 
there) ,  and  gave  the  driver  the  name  of  a  popular 
cafe,  "Henley's." 

Noel  was  experiencing  sensations  similar  to  those 
Peter  Bosten  had  felt  on  first  coming  to  Petit  City. 
There  would  be  a  rent  in  the  magic  web,  by  and  by, 


Involving  an  Actress  149 

and  the  dream  would  come  to  an  end,  leaving  bare 
walls,  darkness  and  a  hard  pillow  behind. 

"I  suppose,"  remarked  the  actress,  as  they  sped 
down  Ladner's  white  way,  "if  your  congregation  ever 
saw  you  doing  this  there  would  be  trouble." 

"Who  told  you  I  had  a  congregation,  Adele?" 

"I  forget.  Some  one  informed  me  several  months 
ago  that  you  were  out  in  the  field" — he  noted  with 
pleasure  that  she  still  used  church  terminology — "but 
I  thought  it  was  down  East.  Of  course  when  I  saw 
you  at  the  theater,  in  your  black  suit,  I  concluded 
you  were  doing  pastor's  work  here.  That,  after  all, 
is  the  work,  it  seems  to  me,  for  which  you  would  be 
best  fitted." 

In  the  back  of  his  brain  Noel  was  thinking  of  the 
failure  he  had  made,  or  thought  he  had  made.  But 
foremost  in  his  mind  was  the  girl  beside  him,  whom 
he  had  heard  pray  and  sing  many  times  in  prayer 
meeting. 

Unable  to  readily  form  a  reply  that  would  repre- 
sent his  thoughts,  he  allowed  a  brief  silence  to  ensue ; 
the  while  the  actress  studied  him  from  the  corner  of 
her  eye. 

"I  am  pastor  here,  temporarily,"  he  said,  pres- 
ently; "but  it's  a  hard  task,  Adele;  I  feel  unfit  for  it. 
Only  to-night  they  were  having  a  business  meeting 
in  which  I  was  being  asked  to  resign :  when  I  got  up 


150  Peter  Bosten 

and  left.  That  is  how  I  happened  to  stray  toward 
the  theater.  I  hadn't  noticed  your  name  in  the  news- 
paper advertisements  and  knew  nothing  about  your 
connection  with  the  Pilsen  company.  It  was  blind 
chance  that  led  me  to  you." 

"And  yet — was  it,  Noel?"  she  returned,  quickly. 
"You  never  used  to  believe  much  in  chance.  Have 
you,  like  me,  changed?" 

"Sometimes  I  ask  myself  that  question,  Adele. 
But  as  for  you,  I  think  you  are  just  as  gotfd  as  ever. 
There  is  honesty  in  your  eye  and  sincerity  in  your 
voice,  as  there  always  was  in  spite  of — "  He  hesi- 
tated. "In  spite  of  your  love  of  pleasure,"  he  fin- 
ished. 

She  pressed  his  hand  and  there  was  a  pause. 

"This  trouble  of  yours,"  she  said,  by  and  by,— 
"who  wanted  you  to  resign?  Do  you  want  me  to 
guess?" 

He  nodded. 

"The  Jacobs  crowd,"  came  the  answer,  in  stage 
slang. 

"How  did  you  guess,  Adele?" 

But  they  were  at  the  cafe. 

Noel  was  not  quite  sure  how  to  proceed.  How- 
ever, the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  open  the  taxi  door ; 
and  his  second  act  was  to  reach  for  the  worn  bill 
in  his  vest  pocket.  Adele  was  quick  to  detect  the 


Involving  an  Actress  151 

movement,  and  forestalled  his  recklessness  through 
the  speaking  tube. 

As  they  entered  the  cafe  she  reminded  him  that  he 
was  a  missionary  and  she  a  prosperous  actress. 

"If  you  attempt  to  pay  anything,"  she  declared, 
"I  will  take  it  as  an  offense." 

He  believed  her,  too. 

It  was  half -past  eleven  when  their  soup  arrived. 
Noel  glanced  at  his  watch  and  Adele  at  him. 

"This  is  one  night  you  forget  the  demands  of 
duty,"  she  warned.  "Noel,  I  am  going  to  talk  you 
ill.  Your  hej,d  will  be  nodding  hours  before  I  am 
through  with  you." 

He  gazed  about  the  place,  a  moment,  as  any  novice 
might;  the  while  Adele,  to  whom  the  glamor  of  life 
was  already  beginning  to  lose  its  charm,  secretly 
studied  his  profile. 

By  and  by  she  began  the  conversation  where  they 
had  left  off. 

"You  asked  me  how  I  knew  it  was  the  Jacobses 
who  opposed  you,  Noel.  I'll  tell  you.  ...  It  is  an  old 
habit  of  theirs.  They  cater  to  themselves  and  want 
everybody  else  to  do  it.  I  know  I  am  a  frivolous 
creature  myself ;  I  love  nice  things ;  I  even  like  to  be 
flattered.  But,  Noel,  I  don't  think  I  am  a  hypocrite. 

"A  few  months  ago,  Arthur  Jacobs  was  in  a  town 
where  our  show  was  playing.  Learning  that  I  was, 


152  Peter  Bosten 

or  had  been" — she  dropped  her  eyes  under  his  gaze 
— "a  member  of  the  church,  he  looked  me  up;  made 
a  dreadful  fuss  over  me ;  wanted  me  to  make  their 
home  mine  when  I  came  to  town.  To-day,  at  my 
hotel,  I  received  two  telegrams,  a  telephone  call  and 
a  personal  caller — none  of  which  I  paid  any  atten- 
tion to.  Arthur  was  the  caller,  and  he  went  away 
angry. 

"My  own  cousin — Jack  Delton — you  know  him — 
he's  in  the  southwestern  field  now — had  an  experi- 
ence with  these  people.  They  tried  to  rule  him,  and 
he  preached  right  at  them  from  the  pulpit  one  Sun- 
day. Oh,  how  they  rose  up  and  devoured  things ! 

"But,  Noel,  don't  you  let  them  have  their  way. 
You  should  have  stayed  at  the  business  meeting  to- 
night and  fought  it  out." 

He  smiled  at  her  earnestness.  It  was  good  to 
know  that  the  church  and  the  tribulations  of  its  fol- 
lowers still  interested  her. 

"I  am  not  a  fighter,  Adele,"  he  replied.  "But  come 
now,  tell  me  all  about  yourself.  Leave  me  out  of  the 
conversation.  I  am  in  a  mood  to  forget  myself  to- 
night. Besides,  I  want  to  know  something  about 
your  profession,  and  the  great  strides  you  have  made 
in  it." 

She  gave  him  a  brief  synopsis  of  her  short  career, 
but  he  could  not  induce  her  to  prolong  the  subject. 


Involving  an  Actress  153 

Reflecting,  then,  that  it  might  be  better  for  her  to 
hear  an  account  of  his  missionary  experiences  than 
to  recite  worldly  things,  he  consented  to  speak  again 
of  himself. 

While  he  was  attempting  to  describe  the  vicissi- 
tudes incidental  to  his  unique  labors  in  Nova  Scotia 
and  Maine,  and  while  the  actress  was  holding  back 
a  real  tear,  a  tall,  slim  young  man  entered  "Henley's" 
and  was  shown  to  a  table  within  a  few  yards  o<f 
Adele's,  but  partially  hidden  from  it  behind  a  large 
palm. 

The  newcomer  was  a  newspaperman,  recently 
come  to  town,  who  had  dropped  in  to  test  the  repu- 
tation of  this  famous  Ladner  resort,  and  incidentally 
to  drive  away  the  fatigue  occasioned  by  his  first  edi- 
torial for  the  Evening  Globe. 

Peter  had  no  more  than  got  seated  when  he  caught 
sight  of  two  familiar  faces,  one  more  familiar  than 
the  other. 

Now,  probably  some  persons  would  have  acted  dif- 
ferently; but  being  only  himself,  Peter  tipped  the 
waiter  and  stole  out  of  the  place,  without  having 
tasted  anything  to  eat.  Once  outside,  he  flattened 
his  nose  against  a  pane  of  glass  and  gazed  long  and 
bewilderedly  at  what,  to  him,  was  a  miracle. 


154  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  IX 
LIFE'S  STAGE 

As  HE  turned  away  from  the  cafe  window  Peter 
was  thinking  neither  of  his  recent  editorial  nor  the 
fatigue  it  had  left-  He  walked  home  to  his  room,  a 
distance  of  more  than  ten  blocks,  shaking  his  head 
many  times  en  route,  pondering  over  the  mystery  he 
had  seen. 

The  Kansan  had  been  in  town  only  two  days, 
which  accounts  for  his  ignorance  of  Noel's  pastor- 
ship and  the  wild  idea  he  was  now  cherishing  that 
the  Missourian  had  quit  preaching  up  in  Maine  to 
join  Adele  Cressy,  perhaps  marry  her.  Such  things 
had  happened  before  now.  Peter  had  even  known 
parsons  to  run  off  with  other  men's  wives. 

"But  Noel  is  no  ordinary  preacher,"  he  solilo- 
quized, "let  alone  something  less." 

Peter  recalled  his  conversation  with  the  Missour- 
ian of  more  than  a  year  ago,  wherein  the  latter  had 
confessed  his  infatuation  for  Adele ;  and  found  him- 
self trying  to  trace  the  stages  of  the  passion's  de- 
velopment up  to  the  present.  He  was  aware,  in  do- 
ing so,  of  a  contradiction  somewhere  in  his  own 
philosophy. 

That  the  miracle  he  had  witnessed  in  the  cafe  was 


Life's  Stage  155 

disappointing  to  him — nay,  more  than  that — he 
was  obliged  to  concede.  But  why?  If  Noel,  and  all 
other  religionists,  were  pursuing  an  illusion  in  their 
faith,  did  not  a  surrender  of  the  same  bring  them 
nearer  to  Truth?  And  if  the  affairs  of  the  world 
and  the  universe  were  directed  according  to  the  laws 
of  evolution,  where  was  there  any  ill  significance  in 
the  attachment  of  a  clean  young  man  for  a  charming 
professional  singer? 

"But  there's  Jessie,"  the  Kansan  answered  him- 
self. 

"Yes,"  Reason  returned,  "but  his  attachment  for 
her  is  a  spiritual  thing  and  depends  on  his  religious 
scruples.  He  believes  their  lives  jointly  will  be  of 
greater  service  to  God  than  separately,  or  than  a 
union  between  himself  and  a  girl  like  Adele  Cressy. 
Now,  if  this  faith  is  misplaced,  as  you  believe  his 
faith  in  God  to  be, — why  see  anything  foreboding  in 
his  present  conduct?" 

But  try  as  he  might  to  be  logical  in  this  matter, 
Peter  felt  a  pang  of  disappointment  in  his  breast  at 
thought  of  the  psychologic  change  in  Noel.  Some- 
how, it  boded  ill ;  proclaimed  that  there  was  nothing 
sure  on  earth. 

The  thinker  retired  with  his  reflections,  resolving, 
as  he  turned  off  the  lights,  that  he  would  call  on  the 


156  Peter  Bosten 

actress  next  day  and  ascertain  exactly  what  had 
happened  before  looking  Noel  up. 

At  the  same  moment  Adele  was  asking  her  com- 
panion if  he  would  prefer  tea  to  the  coffee  he  had 
left  untouched. 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  replied;  but  did  not  remind 
her  that  their  church  believed  all  manner  of  stimu- 
lants were  harmful.  She  did  not  have  to  be  re- 
minded, however. 

"Noel,"  she  said,  tenderness  creeping  into  her 
tone,  "I  don't  believe  there  is  another  like  you  in  the 
world." 

With  that  he  grinned  and  raising  his  coffee-cup 
swallowed  a  generous  mouthful.  The  action  so 
amused  Adele  that  she  was  several  minutes  regain- 
ing possession  of  herself.  Nor  did  the  missionary 
stop  at  one  sup.  He  drank  all  the  coffee  and  de- 
clared that  "Henley's"  sure  knew  how  to  make  it. 

The  explanation  of  his  conduct  was  soon  forth- 
coming. . 

"Adele,"  he  observed,  thoughtfully,  "I  am  weary 
of  being  considered  halo-browed.  It  makes  my  task 
so  much  harder.  Let  you  and  me  be  perfectly  hon- 
est with  each  other,  we  are  old  friends,  and  it  will 
be  such  a  relief.  Your  inviting  me  here  to-night  has 
done  wonders  for  me.  Among  other  things  it  has 
demonstrated  what  a  noble,  understanding  thing 


Life's  Stage  157 

true  friendship  is.  With  you  I  know  it  is  not  my 
calling  that  enlists  interest.  You  know,  there  are 
cloth-worshipers  in  this  church  as  in  every  other; 
and  if  a  minister  happens  to  show  himself  human 
once  in  a  while,  he  is  immediately  consigned  to  per- 
dition. 

"But  with  people  like  you,  Adele, — well,  I  like  you. 
Your  presence  does  me  a  world  of  good — far  more 
than  mine  can  possibly  do  you.  So  forget  that  I'm 
a  preacher,  like  a  dear  girl,  and  let  us  be  jolly  this 
week." 

The  girl's  eyes  glowed  and  color  mantled  her 
cheeks.  Here  was  a  side  of  Noel's  character  that 
she  had  never  clearly  glimpsed  before-  It  revealed 
him  in  a  more  alluring  light  than  ever. 

But  in  the  height  of  her  pleasure  there  came  a  chill 
—with  thought  of  Jessie  Kirkton.  Was  the  mission- 
ary still  true  to  her? 

The  answer  seemed  obvious  to  Adele.  Noel  might 
have  innocent  reactions  like  this  from  the  side  of 
perfection,  but  fundamentally  he  was  unchangeable. 
Yet,  discouraging  ias  the  reflection  was,  Adele  deter- 
mined to  make  one  supreme  effort  to  win  more  than 
his  friendship.  She  felt  that  she  had  temporary  ad- 
vantage of  him,  and  of  Jessie ;  which  advantage  she 
must  make  use  of  to  the  full  extent.  That  her  plan 
involved  the  defeat  of  another  girl's  love  was  a  mis- 


158  Peter  Bosten 

take  of  life's — not  hers.  She  loved  Noel  Crayne  as 
truly  as  any  woman  could,  and  determined  to  make 
him  reciprocate  the  affection  if  possible. 

Had  the  actress  known  how  much  circumstances 
were  in  her  favor  she  would  have  been  encouraged. 
Had  she  realized,  for  instance,  that  his  heart  was  un- 
dergoing stinging  emotions,  in  which  love  for  Jessie 
Kirkton  was  not  the  predominant  factor ;  and  known 
just  how  human  he  really  was,  beneath  his  black  coat, 
Adele  would  have  played  her  game  more  confidently 
— and  perhaps  less  effectively. 

"Why,  Noel,"  she  smiled,  "if  you  don't  look  out 
you'll  force  me  to  write  home  about  you !" 

"I  expect  Brother  Jacobs  has  done  that  already," 
he  replied.  "But  now  Adele,"  he  changed  the  sub- 
ject abruptly,  "if  we  are  to  chum  this  week,  I  can't 
have  you  spending  money.  You  know  the  state  of 
my  own  finances,  I  suppose:  and  as  I  can  not  keep 
up  my  end  of  it,  you'll  have  to  submit  to  the  simple 
life  for  a  few  days.  We  can  go  through  the  parks 
and  so  on." 

She  nodded  approvingly,  her  mind  busy  on  the 
formulation  of  a  question  for  which  she  had  been  in 
search  of  an  occasion. 

"How  ever  will  you  manage  to  live  on  your  mis- 
sionary's allowance  when  you're  married,  Noel?" 
She  spoke  with  well-assumed  indifference. 


Life's  Stage  159 

After  a  pause  he  answered,  with  an  unconscious 
sigh:  "That's  probably  a  long  way  off."  He  was 
thinking  of  the  possibility  of  Billy  Moore's  proving 
the  more  acceptable.  And  although  the  thought  car- 
ried a  sigh  in  its  wake,  Noel  was  not  aware  of  any 
acute  suffering.  Adele  Cressy's  presence  had  al- 
ways had  an  obliterating  effect  upon  his  troubles. 

"You  speak  forlornly,"  she  smiled.  "I  hope  noth- 
ing has  happened?" 

In  his  present  mood  he  did  not  care  to  mention 
Jessie.  In  truth,  he  wanted  to  mentally  neglect  her 
a  little  as  <a  punishment  of  her  continued  regard  for 
a  rival. 

"You  keep  talking  about  me,"  he  answered,  evas- 
ively, "although  I  have  warned  you  against  it !" 

Might  not  something  have  happened  between  them 
after  all,  Adele  mused?  Did  not  his  actions  to-night 
imply  as  much? 

Alas  for  the  perspicacity  of  women ! 

The  actress  conceived  another  illuminating  idea. 
She  would  diagnose  him  for  possible  sentiments  to- 
ward herself.  And  a  memory  aided  her  here.  She 
recalled  a  church  picnic,  three  years  past,  where  he 
had  stumbled  upon  her  and  one  Donald  Graham, 
walking  arm  in  arm  through  the  woods.  The  ex- 
pression of  his  face  had  been  singularly  like  that  of 
a  man's  who  glimpses  the  green-eyed  monster. 


160  Peter  Bosten 

Why  a  young  man  who  had  no  right  (though  he 
might  have  obtained  it)  and  apparently  no  desire 
to  dictate  to  her  strolls,  should  betray  such  interest, 
had  been  considerable  of  a  marvel  to  her  at  the  time ; 
but  now  she  might  profit  by  that  observation. 

"What  was  it  about  Mr.  Clear,"  she  asked,  non- 
chalantly, "that  you  didn't  like,  Noel?" 

He  glanced  at  her  interrogatively,  with  a  sudden- 
ness that  delighted  her. 

"I  don't  know,"  came  his  answer  slowly.  "The 
usual  trouble  with  men — and  women  too  for  that 
matter.  Lack  of  seriousness  in  life ;  love  of  the  su- 
perficial— including  self." 

"Splendid!"  she  cried,  softly.  "But  Noel,"  her 
tone  changed  slightly,  "don't  you  realize  that  you 
have  also  described  me?" 

He  smiled  reassuringly. 

"I  have  always  thought,  Adele,  that  there  was 
more  to  you  than  is  seen  on  the  surface,  even  though 
you  do  love  pleasure." 

Her  eyes  fell,  not  in  affectation,  either.  Gradually 
they  returned  to  the  level  of  his  gaze. 

"Noel,  don't  you  think  that  Mr.  Clear  is  just  about 
the  type  for  me?  Remember,  you  wanted  us  to  be 
honest  with  each  other  to-night." 

The  missionary's  countenance  clouded  slightly. 
The  shadow  of  a  frown  appeared,  and  the  eyes  took 


Life's  Stage  161 

on  a  new  expression.  These  signs  were  not  lost  on 
the  actress. 

"Indeed  I  don't,"  he  replied  readily,  emphatically. 
" While  I've  never  been  able  to  find  a  man — "  The 
speaker  came  to  a  halt,  as  if  struck  by  an  idea.  "By 
the  way,  Adele,"  he  went  on,  thoughtfully,  "you  re- 
member Peter  Bosten?" 

She  smiled,  so  apparent  was  the  trend  of  his 
thoughts  to  her. 

"He's  the  man  for  me,  eh?" 

The  Missourian  was  obliged  to  chuckle,  in  his 
thunderous  bass. 

"Seriously,  though,  from  what  you  knew  of  him, 
didn't  he  strike  you  as  being  a  fine  fellow?" 

"Yes,"  she  admitted.  "But  there  was  no—"  She 
hesitated.  " — No  physical  appeal." 

Their  eyes  communicated.  There  was  a  momen- 
tary silence. 

"Now  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Clear,"  she  went  on, 
presently,  observing  the  shadow  on  her  companion's 
face  again,  "there  is." 

The  missionary  looked  into  his  coffee  cup. 

"That  seems  to  me,"  he  observed,  "to  be  one  of 
the  best  proofs  of  my  contention.  These  physical  at- 
tachments strike  me  as  being  the  cause  of  great 
trouble.  The  spiritual  marriage  is  the  nobler  kind, 
don't  you  think  so?" 


162  Peter  Bosten 

She  shook  her  head  decisively,  and  a  wisp  of  hair 
loosed  itself  from  a  fold  over  her  ear. 

"Indeed  I  do  not,  Noel." 

He  had  hit  upon  the  very  subject  she  wanted  him 
to  touch. 

' 'These  spiritual  marriages  are  not  necessarily 
ideal.  They  seem  cold  and  unnatural  to  me.  Is  not 
marriage,  after  all,  a  decidedly  physical  thing? 
Children — are  they  not  physical  ?  Hasn't  the  Maker 
given  us  passions,  compelling  us  to  do  hia  will  by 
them?  Can  you  or  I  say  these  impulses  are  carnal 
or  ugly?" 

He  was  astounded  both  at  what  she  said  and  at 
the  fact  that  is  was  Adele  who  said  it. 

"If  you  want  to  find  an  ideal  marriage,  Noel,"  she 
went  on,  realizing  that  she  had  made  an  impression 
on  him,  "look  to  the  one  where  there  are  heartbeats, 
blushes,  even  jealousies;  where  the  girl  cries  for  love 
of  him,  and  he  wants  to  fight  for  her." 

The  missionary  caught  a  vagrant  tear  in  her  eye, 
and  could  feel  the  blood  running  into  his  cheeks.  In 
a  few  simple  sentences  she  had  betrayed  her  own 
love  and  at  the  same  time  pictured  to  him  the  affec- 
tion he  had  been  crying  down  for  years. 

With  feminine  tact  she  closed  the  matter  abruptly, 
and  with  a  glance  at  her  watch  smilingly  remarked 
that  it  was  time  for  them  to  go. 


Life's  Stage  163 

Again  she  called  a  taxi,  and  although  he  begged 
her  to  let  him  walk  home,  insisted  on  driving  around 
that  way  with  him.  But  she  did  not  allow  him  to  re- 
turn to  their  conversation  on  love.  That  was  some- 
thing he  must  think  over  for  himself.  Adele  had  a 
week  before  her ;  and  the  game  she  played  must  not 
be  forced.  The  stakes  were  too  high.  She  would  use 
all  the  arts  at  her  command. 

The  good  "sister,"  at  whose  house  the  missionary 
resided,  was  at  all  times  a  light  sleeper.  To-night, 
having  been  to  business  meeting,  and  knowing  that 
Brother  Crayrte  had  not  yet  come  home,  she  lay 
awake  fretting.  Consequently  when  the  taxi  drove 
up  she  heard  it,  and  was  so  sorely  tempted  to  peek 
out  the  front  window  that  she  did  so. 

There,  was  a  finely  dressed  lady  leaning  out  of  an 
automobile,  bidding  the  missionary  good-night. 
Good-night ! — why,  it  was  almost  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning!  Had  not  the  clock  struck  two,  long  ago? 

The  good  sister,  of  course,  could  scarcely  believe 
her  eyes.  And  he  so  young ! 

Before  getting  back  into  bed  she  prayed  for  him, 
and  asked  the  Almighty  to  "reward  Brother  Jacobs 
according  to  his  works."  The  reward  she  was  think- 
ing of,  as  she  prayed,  was  the  loss  of  property  and  a 
certain  amount  of  pride. 

Noel  felt  that  he  ought  to  lie  awake  and  medi- 


164  Peter  Bosten 

tate  awhile,  but  he  was  so  sleepy  the  "penance''  was 
a  physical  impossibility.  For  his  was  not  a  medieval 
conscience,  frightened  with  all  manner  of  hobgob- 
lins, given  to  extreme  fantasies.  It  was  the  con- 
science that  goes  with  a  clear  brain,  an  honest  heart, 
and  a  healthy  constitution. 

The  little  qualm  that  suggested  expiatory  medi- 
tation was  satisfied  with  a  sincere  prayer  for  his 
own  salvation,  Adele  Cressy's,  and  all  the  world's. 
He  sank  to  sleep  with  a  comfortable  feeling  that  he 
had  made  a  girl  happier,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  better, 
by  asserting  his  own  individuality.  Also,  he  looked 
forward  with  pleasure  to  the  morrow  and  several 
days  thereafter,  hoping  opportunities  of  assisting 
to  make  Adele  less  worldly  would  present  themselves. 

Below  all  his  reflections,  of  course,  revolved  her 
argument  about  love,  and  it  continued  to  cause  a 
surging  of  emotions  that  were  resistless,  in  his 
present  state  of  mind. 

When  Peter  Bosten  reported  at  the  office  next 
morning  he  was  instructed  to  catch  the  nine-twenty 
train  for  Philadelphia,  where  an  important  strike 
had  just  occurred. 

"How  long  do  you  think  it  will  last?"  he  asked 
the  editor,  thinking  of  Noel  Crayne  and  the  actress. 

"Probably  only  a  few  days — maybe  not  that." 


Life's  Stage  165 

So,  knowing  the  "Prince  of  Pilsen"  would  be  in 
town  all  week,  and  feeling  certain  that  he  should 
be  back  before  Saturday,  Peter  went  off  without  even 
telephoning  the  Frolic  Theater  for  the  name  of  Miss 
Cressy's  hotel. 

The  missionary  met  with  a  chilly  reception  at 
breakfast  which  he  was  at  a  loss  to  understand.  He 
wanted  to  ask  how  the  business  meeting  had  turned 
out,  but  on  second  thought  deemed  it  advisable  to  ig- 
nore that  proceeding  as  unworthy  of  notice.  It  was 
only  natural  that  a  man  should  withdraw  from  such 
a  session ;  and,  anyway,  Noel  was  not  the  kind  that 
recognizes  human  masters.  Before  breakfast  was 
finished  he  had  ascended  to  a  dignified  mien  himself. 

He  had  an  appointment  with  Adele  for  the  after- 
noon. They  were  going  for  a  stroll  in  the  park. 

"Sister  Bolton,"  he  asked,  with  apparent  inno- 
cence, "where  do  you  transfer  to  reach  the  farthest 
entrance  to  Elm  Grove  Park?" 

Screwing  her  mouth  up  comically  she  made  reply ; 
and,  the  ice  having  been  broken,  asked  him  if  he  had 
heard  the  outcome  of  the  business  meeting.  No,  he 
had  not.  Had  she? 

"I  left  before  it  was  finished,"  she  said,  "but  I 
heard  this  morning,  over  the  telephone,  that  they 
had  a  terrible  time.  Brother  Jacobs  disgraced  him- 


166  Peter  Bosten 

self ;  his  wife  came  to  tears ;  Albert  declared  he  would 
never  set  foot  in  the  church  again ;  and  there  was  no 
end  of  trouble." 

"What  did  they  do  with  me?"  asked  the  mission- 
ary, a  smile  beginning  to  appear  around  his  mouth. 

"I  think,  Brother  Crayne,  they  appointed  a  com- 
mittee to  call  on  you — seeing  that  you  did  not  re- 
main iat  the  church." 

She  accompanied  the  last  clause  with  a  significant 
look,  one  that  nettled  the  Missourian. 

"And  what  do  you  imagine,"  he  asked,  "this  com- 
mittee will  suggest?" 

Her  manner  indicated  that  she  would  prefer  not 
to  answer  this  question.  But  Noel's  face  became  so 
stern  she  finally  decided  it  would  be  better  to  use 
perfect  frankness  with  him. 

"Well,  Brother  Crayne,"  she  replied,  looking  at 
her  plate,  "there  is  a  general  feeling,  I  believe,  that 
one  so  young  as  you  is  inclined  to  be  rather  harsh — 
unintentionally  so." 

"I  see,"  he  returned,  calmly.  "I  don't  suppose," 
he  went  on,  after  a  piause,  "you  have  any  idea  who 
first  suggested  the  committee?" 

Then  he  was  informed  that  it  had  been  done  at 
the  instigation  of  Brother  Jacobs,  and  concurred  in 
by  the  branch  for  the  sake  of  keeping  "peace  in  the 
family." 


Life's  Stage  167 

"Well,"  said  the  missionary,  with  a  flash  of  fire 
in  his  eye,  "if  they  think  it  right  to  compromise  with 
dishonesty  in  order  to  'keep  peace  in  the  family/  as 
you  say,  they  may  have  the  peace — that  kind — and 
let  me  go." 

At  this  the  good  sister's  manner  completely 
changed,  and  she  begged  him  to  be  reasonable. 

"Reasonable?  Where  am  I  unreasonable  in  refus- 
ing to  be  ruled  by  pride  and  selfishness,  Sister  Bol- 
ton?  Do  you  expect  me  to  sacrifice  principle  to  the 
whims  of  a  haughty  family?  That  is  not  in  harmony 
with  the  ideals  of  the  gospel.  I  must  speak  the  truth 
in  my  sermons,  no  matter  whom  it  strikes.  I  had  no 
one  in  particular  in  mind  when  I  spoke  on  hypocrisy, 
a  few  weeks  ago ;  and  no  man  or  series  of  men  in  this 
branch  will  force  me  to  apologize,  in  word  or  action, 
for  a  wrong  I  have  not  committed.  Such  an  act  on 
my  part  would  itself  constitute  hypocrisy.  If  they 
don't  want  my  sincerity  in  this  branch  they  can't 
have  me." 

He  ended  with  all  the  emphasis  of  which  his  bass 
voice  was  capable,  and  "Sister  Bolton"  was  silenced. 

The  Missourian  wanted  to  go  out  and  walk  off  his 
anger,  for  he  was  angry ;  but  reflecting  that  the  com- 
mittee might  possibly  wait  upon  him  during  the 
morning,  he  stayed  in. 

Being  unable  to  study,  however,  and  wishing  to 


168  Peter  Bosten 

forget  the  matter  that  was  on  his  mind,  he  picked 
up  the  photograph  Adele  had  given  him  in  the  dress- 
ing room  of  the  theater  and  proceeded  to  make  a 
pen-and-ink  sketch  of  it. 

The  voice  of  discretion  had  suggested  his  room  for 
a  task  of  this  nature;  but  the  hypocrisy  of  it  dis- 
gusted him,  and  with  admirable  stubbornness  he  sat 
in  the  living  room  of  his  boarding  house,  where  the 
landlady  could  not  help  but  observe  his  operations, 
and  began  portraying  the  beauty  of  an  actress. 


Comedy  and  Drama  169 

CHAPTER  X 

COMEDY  AND  DRAMA 

THERE  may  be  need  to  apologize  for  Noel's  actions, 
during  this  brief  test-period  in  his  life.  If  so,  let 
the  phrase  "weakness  of  humanity"  suffice.  It  is 
very  expressive,  though  trite. 

When  it  is  considered  that  the  Missourian  had 
been  away  from  loved  ones  more  than  a  year  now, 
and  had  sacrificed  the  privilege  of  attending  General 
Conference  in  April,  because  of  financial  stringency 
in  the  church — his  natural  desire  for  a  short  week  of 
diversion,  with  an  old  friend  may  be  viewed  in  a 
charitable  light. 

He  was  not  conscious  of  infidelity  to  Jessie  in  his 
associations  with  Adele.  That  they  were  engaged 
was  no  reason  for  blindness  upon  the  part  of  either. 
Neither  of  them  claimed  to  be  infallible;  and  while 
they  believed  "the  way  would  be  opened  up"  for  their 
marriage,  yet  they  must  not  set  themselves  up  as 
arbiters  of  destiny.  Under  God's  guidance,  all  men 
had  their  free  agency,  and  were  in  duty  bound  to  use 
what  intelligence  they  possessed — in  love  matters  as 
in  all  others. 

There  were  many  mysteries  in  this  universe.  Pos- 
sibly, as  Peter  Bosten  believed,  religious  people  were 


170  Peter  Bosten 

too  confident  of  their  comprehension.  Faith  did  not 
imply  knowledge. 

"There  may,"  reflected  the  missionary,  "be  eternal 
truth  in  what  Adele  said  to  me  in  the  cafe.  I  may 
have  a  misconception  of  true  love:  I  am  merely  a 
youngster  yet.  How  do  I  know  but  that  God  ar- 
ranged that  business  meeting  and  my  interview  with 
Adele?  He  may  be  leading  me  to  her  for  both  our 
sakes;  and  has  given  Jessie  another  affection  in  his 
mercy." 

So  mused  the  Missourian  after  his  second  pleasure 
excursion  with  the  actress.  Adele  had  been  pensive, 
even  a  little  sad;  and  her  manner  had  strongly  ap- 
pealed to  him.  They  were  to  meet  again  on  Wednes- 
day. 

Noel  desired,  above  all  things  on  earth,  to  do  the 
right.  He  wanted  to  have  perfect  faith  in  God  and 
the  ultimate  good.  But,  especially  since  knowing 
Peter  Bosten,  he  realized  that  reason  was  a  faculty 
that  must  not  be  ignored.  He  frankly  admitted  to 
himself  that  there  were  individuals  in  the  church 
who  professed  a  species  of  faith  that  he  would  not 
care  to  possess.  It  was  the  kind  that  bred  fanatics, 
it  seemed  to  him;  attached  abnormal  importance  to 
the  "spiritual  gifts,"  and  too  often  neglected  prac- 
tical Christianity. 

He  knew,  too,  that  faith  was  to  some  extent  a 


Comedy  and  Drama  171 

matter  of  education.  The  heathen  idol-worshiper 
had  faith.  He  believed  in  the  immortality  of  a  pile 
of  stone,  in  the  healing  power  of  incantations  and 
many  other  impossibilities.  And  so  strong  was  this 
faith  of  his  that  often  he  would  surrender  life  for  it. 

There  could  be  no  disputing  the  sincerity  of  such 
belief.  But  the  righteousness  of  it — that  was  an- 
other matter.  And  this  lay  in  the  believer's  concep- 
tion. 

Noel  remembered  the  agnostic  Peter's  argument 
on  Reason :  that  it  was  anterior  to  faith ;  that  with- 
out it  faith  could  not  be  possible.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  was  possible.  But  what  kind  of  faith? — the 
heathen's !  Yet,  did  not  the  heathen  have  a  "reason 
for  the  hope  that  was  within  him?"  Undoubtedly. 
Therefore,  the  determining  factor  must  lie  in  quality. 

The  word  was  an  inspiration  to  Noel.  It,  and  the 
thought  involved,  came  to  him  from  the  realm  of 
Truth,  it  seemed. 

Reason,  faith,  goodness — it  w^as  the  quality  of 
them  that  determined  their  value,  their  truth.  But 
what  was  "quality" ;  how  was  it  ascertained  and  ap- 
plied? 

Noel  was  suddenly  aware  that  he  had  reached  the 
bounds  of  mental  comprehension.  Here  was  some- 
thing that  he  could  not  grasp  and  put  into  words. 
He  could  only  recognize  it.  But  recognition  involved 


172  Peter  Bosten 

a  certain  quality  of  vision!  Here  again  was  the 
elusive  element  of  "quality." 

It  was  a  thing  of  the  soul,  he  decided,  conclusively. 
Something  to  be  felt,  but  which  could  not  be  com- 
municated. It  was,  in  the  last  analysis,  "spiritual 
discernment." 

While  following  this  train  of  thought,  the  mis- 
sionary recalled  innumerable  passages  of  scripture 
bearing  out  his  conclusion;  a  conclusion,  after  all, 
which  uncounted  thinkers  and  believers  had  reached 
before  he  was  born.  And,  while  musing  that  never 
before  had  the  spiritual  nature  of  faith  so  impressed 
itself  upon  him,  Noel  was  aware  of  a  desire  to  com- 
municate the  process  of  thought,  immediately  respon- 
sible for  this  illumination,  to  his  skeptical  friend 
Peter.  Peter  would  scarcely  be  convinced  of  the 
necessity  of  this  spiritual  perception ;  but  he  would 
doubtless  say  something  relevant  that  would  benefit 
both  of  them. 

Noel  had  drifted  away  from  the  reflection  that  had 
started  his  mental  argument  on  faith,  but  now  found 
his  way  back  to  it,  by  degrees. 

The  passion  he  had  for  Adele  Cressy  might  be 
noble;  nay,  there  might  be  the  hand  of  God  in  it. 
This,  however,  faith  could  not  determine.  He  must 
reason  it  out,  praying  for  guidance. 

But  the  moment  he  began  to  reason  he  ran  against 


Comedy  and  Drama  173 

what  seemed  to  be  an  insurmountable  obstacle.  His 
life  work. 

That  Adele  would  be  content  with  the  allowance 
of  a  missionary's  wife  was  incomprehensible  to  him. 
It  took  a  high-minded  girl  to  contemplate  with 
serenity  a  life  of  poverty  and  uncertainty.  Would 
Adele  ever  be  able  to  do  so? 

Noel  sighed  as  the  answer  came  to  him.  Adele 
was  by  nature  a  lover  of  finery  and  pleasure — .  But 
the  missionary  came  to  a  halt.  Who  was  he  that  he 
should  doubt  the  power  of  the  gospel  to  save  from 
worldly  allurements?  Was  the  "plan  of  salvation" 
so  weak  a  thing  that  a  girl's  vanity  might  set  it 
aside? 

Thus  he  floundered,  working  on  another  pen-and- 
ink  sketch  of  Adele  the  while, — when  his  landlady 
announced  that  the  church  committee  had  arrived 
and  would  be  pleased  to  interview  him. 

With  youthful  perversity  Noel  leaned  the  sketch 
against  a  vase,  scorning  to  conceal  an  innocent  thing, 
and  received  his  interlocutors. 

There  were  three  of  them ;  two  of  whom  the  mis- 
sionary recognized  as  habitual  apologists  for  com- 
promise, not  to  say  Brother  Jacobs,  and  the  third  a 
good-natured  man,  Brother  Simpson,  a  veritable 
pacifist  among  religionists. 

Robert  Wade,  a  deacon  in  the  branch,  opened  the 


174  Peter  Bosten 

matter ;  his  right-hand-man,  Brother  Carswell,  draw- 
ing a  ludicrously  long  face  the  while.  Brother  Simp- 
son seemed  a  trifle  embarrassed.  Noel  listened  to 
what  the  deacon  had  to  say,  calmly  at  first,  but  with 
heightened  color  by  and  by. 

"For  you  know,  brethren/'  Mr.  Wade  concluded, 
"it  is  our  duty  to  show  ourselves  the  humblest  of  all 
people,  and  guard  against  doing  anything  that  would 
serve  as  a  stumblingblock  for  our  fellow  servants/' 

This  was  about  ias  specific  as  the  brother  became ; 
and  when  Noel  drew  a  long  breath,  preparatory  to 
replying,  he  could  scarcely  repress  a  smile. 

"Now  look  here,  brethren,"  he  began,  and  his  tone 
was  free  from  the  tragic  element  that  sounded  so 
absurd  in  the  deacon's,  "let  us  come  to  the  point. 
Is  this  committee  to  make  its  report  back  to  the 
branch?" 

There  was  a  wavering  affirmative. 

"Very  well,  then.  What  would  you  prefer  to  re- 
port?" 

After  beating  about  the  bush  awhile  Brother 
Wade  managed  to  convey  the  information  that  an 
apology  would  be  most  satisfactory. 

"An  apology  for  what?"  asked  the  Missourian 
mercilessly. 

There  was  further  hesitation;  but  by  degrees  the 


Comedy  and  Dmma  175 

question  was  answered  as  the  propounder  knew  it 
would  be.  * 

"Then,"  he  returned,  quickly,  "go  back  and  tell 
them  that  I  will  not  apologize.  When  do  you  re- 
port?", 

"To-night,  after  prayer  meeting,"  said  the  pacifist, 
glad  of  an  opportunity  of  doing  something  toward 
the  discharge  of  his  unpleasant  duty. 

Noel  rose,  as  a  sign  that  he  was  through  with  the 
affair;  but  Brother  Garswell,  whose  eyes  had  been 
wandering  frequently  to  the  actress  sketch  to  his 
right,  suddenly  showed  alarm ;  and  begged  the  pastor 
to  resume  his  seat. 

"There  is  another  little  matter  I  feel  it  my  duty  to 
bring  to  your  attention,"  he  remarked. 

Noel  sat  down  and  looked  the  speaker  (when  it 
was  possible)  in  the  eye. 

"Before  coming  here  this  afternoon,  Brother 
Crayne,  a  member  of  the  branch  called  me  up  and 
informed  me  that  a  friend  of  hers,  who  does  not  be- 
long to  the  church  but  who  has  heard  you  speak  and 
knows  you  on  the  street,  had  the  pleasure,  as  the 
sister  put  it,  of  giving  you  a  pass  to  a  certain  enter- 
tainment, the  character  of  which — ." 

Brother  Carswell  lost  courage  at  this  juncture, 
owing  to  the  luster  of  the  Missourian's  eye,  and  came 
to  a  full  stop. 


176  Peter  Bosten 

"Don't  sidetrack  the  issue  further,"  said  Noel,  in 
tones  that  were  half  defiant,  half  pitying.  "I  thor- 
oughly understand  your  visit." 

He  gulped,  as  though  swallowing  something  very 
distasteful  to  him,  and  the  expression  of  his  features 
was  such  that  it  might  be  said  he  "made  a  face." 
Then  he  continued. 

"Do  you  three  gentlemen" — he  did  not  call  them 
"brethren"  this  time — "consider  yourselves  compe- 
tent, from  the  standpoint  of  knowledge  and  spirit- 
uality, to  undertake  such  an  important  mission  as 
that  of  excusing  and  perpetuating  the  pride  of  a 
hypocrite?" 

The  relevance  of  the  remark  seemed  not  quite  ap- 
parent to  them,  but  they  finally  managed  to  grasp  its 
meaning.  And  realizing  that  the  pastor  was  un- 
swerving in  his  determination  to  stand  his  ground, 
the  deacon  resorted  to  a  last  means  of  coercing  him. 

"You  will  understand,  Brother  Crayne,"  he  began, 
"that  I  do  not  wish  to  implicate  anyone  else  in  this 
little  unpleasantness."  He  glanced  toward  the 
kitchen.  "But  for  the  sake  of  convincing  you  that 
we  can  all  afford  to  be,  hem !  charitable,  I  may  say 
that  for  our  missionaries  to  ride  around  late  at  night 
in  a  taxi,  is  a  very  bad  example  for  the  young  of 
the " 

The  Missourian  rose  abruptly.    "I  shall  report  to 


Comedy  and  Drama  177 

the  minister  in  charge  to-night,"  he  said,  "by  letter/' 

With  that  he  turned  and  left  them  to  console  each 
other.  Did  he  slam  the  door  of  the  living  room  as  he 
went  out  of  the  house? 

Disgusted  with  the  fruits  of  his  efforts,  and  feel- 
ing, somehow,  that  he  must  not  go  away  empty- 
handed,  Brother  Wade  seized  the  pen-and-ink  sketch 
of  Adele  Cressy,  and  bore  it  off  with  him.  It  was, 
to  say  the  least,  proof  that  the  pastor  frittered  away 
his  time  on  worldly  pursuits,  and  would  be  a  nice 
item  of  evidence  against  him  in  case  of  a  church 
court. 

Half  an  hour  later  Noel  returned  to  the  house  and 
walked  directly  to  the  little  writing  table  in  the  liv- 
ing room.  Obviously  he  had  come  back  for  the 
sketch. 

Being  in  an  uncompromising  frame  of  mind  he 
subjected  the  landlady  to  a  mild  form  of  inquisition ; 
at  last  compelling  her  to  admit  that  she  had  not  seen 
the  deacon  take  the  sketch  but  had  heard  him  make 
a  remark  in  leaving  that  indicated  he  had  it  in  his 
possession. 

When  he  learned  this  the  Missourian  was  glad  he 
had  dealt  arbitrarily  with  the  committee.  There  was 
no  staying  in  this  branch  after  such  contemptible 
work. 

Noel  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  minister  in 


178  Peter  Bosten 

charge,  resigning  the  temporary  pastorship  of  Lad- 
ner;  then  set  out  for  the  Quincy  Hotel,  where  Adele 
Cressy  was  staying. 

"I'll  go  back  among  strangers,"  he  told  her,  "where 
I  can  preach  the  simple  message  of  salvation  un- 
hampered by  the  egotism  of  backsliding  members. 
Pastoral  work  is  too  much  for  me,  Adele.  Perhaps 
I  am  too  inexperienced;  I  don't  know."  After  a 
short  pause  he  added :  "Sometimes  I  think  it  was  a 
mistake  for  me  to  enter  the  field  at  all." 

She  sought  his  gaze,  with  eyes  that  gave  him  a 
glimpse  of  the  fires  that  burned  beneath.  They  were 
sitting  beside  each  other  in  ia  private  parlor  of  her 
hotel. 

"Noel,"  she  asked,  with  an  earnestness  of  manner 
that  carried  force,  "do  you  believe  in  the  kind  of  love 
that  aches  eternally,  and  never  seems  to  bring  any- 
thing but  suffering,  disappointment?" 

What  had  this  to  do  with  the  matter  of  which  he 
had  been  speaking?  He  gave  her  a  puzzled  look; 
but  immediately  this  expression  faded,  and  a  deep 
glow  betrayed  his  understanding. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  went  on,  "that  it  is  sincere, 
or  would  you  prefer  the  more  ethereal  kind  that 
worships,  forgetting  its  moderate  pangs,  most  of 
the  time,  in  religion  and  other  things?" 

Now,  the  Missourian  was  of  an  artistic  nature,  and 


Comedy  and  Drama  179 

had,  in  abundance,  what  is  called  "temperament." 
It  was  impossible  for  him  to  stoically,  or  even  phil- 
osophically, survey  suffering  of  any  kind. 

Suffering  is  what  he  saw  in  Adele's  expression; 
the  bitterness  of  an  unwelcome  affection.  The  sight 
aroused  his  pity,  but  it  did  more  than  that ;  it  spurred 
him  on  to  a  confession  that  had  many  a  time  almost 
escaped  him. 

Impulsively  he  took  her  hands  in  his,  an  act  which 
had  the  effect  of  weakening  her  powers  of  resistance ; 
and  drawing  her  slightly  toward  him,  spoke  frankly 
of  his  feelings  regarding  her;  also,  of  the  accom- 
panying fear. 

Before  they  quite  realized  their  situation,  impelled 
as  they  were  by  natural  forces,  they  were  making 
mutual  confessions  of  regard,  he  confusedly,  she  con- 
vincingly. 

"Oh,  Noel,"  she  said,  putting  a  note  in  her  voice 
that  compelled  his  sympathy,  "you  can't  understand 
it,  fully,  wonderful  as  you  are !  It  is  almost  a  phys- 
ical agony.  There  are  times  when  I  can  feel  my 
heart  literally  pain." 

Her  words  humbled  him.  This  was  not  a  conven- 
tional thing  for  a  woman  to  do;  but  Noel  was  not 
wedded  to  conventionality.  Adele's  confession  was 
something  sacred.  It  carried  a  potentiality,  never- 
theless, that  stirred  him  deeply. 


180  Peter  Bosten 

"You  do  not  need  to  speak  your  opinion  of  me, 
Noel,"  she  continued.  "I  know  your  thoughts.  You 
consider  me  worldly,  vain,  superficial."  He  made  a 
sober  gesture  of  disagreement,  but  she  ignored  it. 
"Perhaps  you  are  right;  but  then  you  may,  to  some 
extent,  be  wronging  me.  I  admit  that  I  love  beauti- 
ful things,  and  can  not  delve  into  religion  as  some 
people  can.  But  my  heart  is  right,  and  I  have  more 
determination  than  some  of  your  goody  people. 

"My  love  may  seem  physical  to  you.  You  may  not 
be  able  to  idolize  me.  But  I  flatter  myself  that  I 
know  most  men  better  than  they  know  themselves; 
and  perhaps  I  know  something  of  your  nature  that  is 
a  mystery  to  yourself.  Did  that  ever  strike  you, 
Noel? 

"Doubtless  you  imagine  you  could  be  for  ever 
happy  with  Jessie  Kirkton?  We  both  are  thinking 
of  her,  so  why  not  speak  of  her?  But  Noel,  dear,  I 
sincerely  believe  you  could  not.  You'd  never  allow 
yourself  to  be  unkind,  or  even  think  disloyal  things 
about  her;  but  there  would  come  times  when  your 
heart  would  be  hungry,  your  soul  empty.  Then  you 
would  think  of  the  sweet,  God-given  passion  that  I 
had  had  for  you — ."  Tears  came  to  the  surface  here, 
and  Adele  allowed  them  to  remain  on  her  cheeks. 
Her  entreaty,  she  realized,  was  rapidly  winning  him ; 
and  she  followed  up  her  advantage  with  feverish, 


Comedy  and  Drama  181 

though  natural,  eloquence.  "It  is  not  what  the 
preachers  call  'carnal/  Noel.  It  is  as  pure  as  any- 
thing in  this  world.  You  have  felt  it  yourself,  and 
therefore  it  must  be.  For  I  know  that  you,  above 
anyone  else  on  earth,  are  good  all  the  way  through." 

She  reached  the  point,  at  last,  where  emotion  over- 
powered restraint;  and  lying  in  his  arms  she  wept 
unaffectedly. 

This  was  hard  for  the  Missourian  to  endure;  and 
yet  he  was  conscious  of  a  wild,  unknown  happiness. 

"Adele,"  he  said,  kindly,  "let  us  talk  the  matter 
over  calmly.  Don't  you  see  how  I  am  placed?" 

Her  face  was  still  hidden,  but  she  was  more  com- 
posed. 

"I  am  a  missionary,  and  what  allowance  I  receive 
goes  to  my  mother.  What  could  I  do  for  a  girl  who 
has  been  used  to  the  luxury  you  have?" 

When  she  realized  that  his  objection  concerned 
money,  not  his  attachment,  of  whatever  nature  it 
was,  for  Jessie  Kirkton,  Adele  took  heart. 

"Noel,"  she  said,  turning  her  face  until  their  eyes 
met,  "you  don't  yet  seem  to  believe  that  I  am  in 
earnest.  Do  you  think  that  money,  clothes,  pleas- 
ures, mean  anything  to  me  without  you?" 

The  actress  may  have  thought  she  meant  every 
word  of  this  statement.  Under  certain  influences  it 
is  possible  to  be  deceived  as  to  the  true  state  of  one's 


182  Peter  Bosten 

feelings — especially  if  one  is  blessed  (or  cursed) 
with  "temperament." 

"Maybe  I  have  misjudged  you,"  he  returned,  after 
a  moment's  thought.  "If  so,  I  beg  your  forgiveness. 
But,  Adele,  I  can't  quite  feel  that  it  would  be  right. 
Suppose  you  put  yourself  in  Jessie's  place,  for  a 
moment:  how  would  you  regard  an  individual  who 
contemplated  what ?" 

For  answer  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck. 
He  did  contemplate  "it,"  then ! 

And  it  was  in  this  position  that  Peter  found  them, 
a  moment  later,  as  he  innocently  walked  into  the 
parlor. 

"I'll  take  you  with  me  for  a  year,"  she  was  saying. 
"You  can  study  art — and  make  money  at  it  too. 
Then,  some  day,  you  can  take  up  your  church  work 
again ." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  intruder,  being 
caught  in  the  act  of  trying  to  escape  unseen. 

"Peter!"  exclaimed  Noel,  gently  extricating  him- 
self from  his  surroundings. 


Peter  Takes  a  Hand  183 

CHAPTER  XI 

PETER  TAKES  A  HAND 

THE  Kansan's  first  article  on  the  Philadelphia 
strike  had  resulted  in  his  recall. 

"I  didn't  send  you  down  there  to  write  a  sermon," 
explained  the  editor,  hotly,  as  Peter  stood  before  his 
desk. 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  don't  quite  understand." 

The  "chief"  grunted.  "You  don't  eh?  Well,  you 
will  when  you're  in  the  newspaper  business  a  while. 
Our  mission  is  not  that  of  a  missionary  among  the 
heathen.  Get  that  idea  out  of  your  head  right  on  the 
start  and  it  will  save  you  a  lot  of  trouble.  Try  to 
remember,  in  every  squib  you  write,  that  the  main 
object  of  an  up-to-date  journal  is  to  make  money — 
not  converts.  Why,  you  said  enough  in  that  edi- 
torial to  turn  all  the  employers  in  Ladner  against 

"But  I  told  the  truth,"  interrupted  the  reporter; 
and  was  in  turn  interrupted : 

" — Never  mind  that.  Sometimes  we  can't  do  a 
worse  thing  than  tell  the  truth." 

"But  in  this  case,  sir,"  Peter  objected,  "the  men 
were  being  treated  shamefully  by  a  compact  of 
crooked  politicians  and  barbarous  millionaires.  Poor 


184  Peter  Bosten 

fellows  who  only  wanted  enough  to  live  on;  who 
were  fighting  not  for  pleasures  and  luxuries  but 
simply  bread  for  their  families,  were  knocked  down 
in  the  streets;  some  of  them  even  killed." 

The  editor  bit  the  end  off  a  cigar  and  described  a 
semicircular  motion  with  his  arm. 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  he  said,  the  merest  trace  of  a 
smile  appearing  around  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
"But  the  Evening  Globe  can't  afford  to  side  with  the 
under  dog,  my  boy.  Now  let  you  and  me  understand 
each  other  right  here.  If  I  were  like  some  of  our 
worthy  newspaper  lords  I'd  make  myself  believe  I 
was  doing  my  duty  by  championing  the  cause  of 
wealth.  But  I  have  no  illusions  in  this  regard.  My 
game  is  to  make  money,  just  as  the  game  of  the  other 
fellow  is  to  make  money ;  but  the  difference  between 
us  is  that  he  likes  deceiving  himself  and  I  don't. 
About  the  only  kind  of  honesty  I  know,  is  honesty 
with  myself — and  that  I  am  loath  to  surrender.  But 
as  the  owner  of  a  newspaper,  Mr.  Bosten,  I  know  I 
am  a  liar  and  several  other  things,  but  certainly  not 
a  reformer." 

Peter  was  not  sure  whether  he  ought  to  take  these 
remarks  seriously  or  not.  He  looked  puzzled. 

"But  you  believe  in  reform — down  in  your  heart, 
don't  you?"  he  asked,  presently. 

"I  reckon  I  do.    But  if  I  began  working  out  my 


Peter  Takes  a  Hand  185 

ideas  on  reform  the  Evening  Globe  would  last  about 
six  months.  The  big  advertisers  would  leave  me, 
conservative  thinkers  would  say  I  had  gone  crazy, 
even  the  preachers  would  shake  their  heads  and  whis- 
per to  each  other  about  my  lack  of  wisdom." 

The  Kansan  grinned:  his  humiliation  at  being 
called  back  from  Philadelphia  was  vanishing.  He 
was  beginning  to  appreciate  the  chief's  cynical  can- 
dor, realizing  that  considerable  honesty  of  thought 
accompanied  it. 

"How  is  it,"  he  asked,  "that  honest-minded  men 
of  intellect  like  you  get  into  this  dirty  old  game  of 
money-grabbing  and  sacrifice  their  ideals  one  by 
one?" 

The  question  was  something  of  a  stunner  to  the 
editor.  He  eyed  the  Kansan  interestedly,  almost  ad- 
miringly. 

"By  gosh,"  he  replied,  emitting  a  great  cloud  of 
cigar  smoke,  "I  have  often  asked  myself  that  ques- 
tion. But  it's hard  to  answer.  We  seem  to  get 

sucked  into  the  swim  against  our  will.  First  we  fall 
in  love  with  some  woman  who  demands,  or  whom  we 
think  demands,  a  lot  of  us.  We  begin  our  money- 
getting  there.  We  must  make  her  as  good  a  home  as 
her  neighbor;  clothe  her  as  finely  and  provide  her 
with  the  same  leisure.  But  the  task  is  a  big  one,  in 
an  environment  where  thousands  of  other  men,  some 


186  Peter  Bosten 

of  them  smarter  than  ourselves,  are  trying  to  do  the 
same  thing.  As  others  are  not  using  legitimate 
means  of  attaining  their  ends,  we,  in  order  to  cope 
successfully  with  them,  are  obliged  to  start  using 
their  tricks.  Then  comes  the  family.  The  boys  and 
girls  grow  up  and  they  begin  their  demands.  They 
must  have  all  the  things  their  school  or  college  asso- 
ciates have.  The  old  man  sits  back  with  his  cigar 
and  sizes  the  situation  up.  He  says  to  himself:  'If 
my  children  go  without  some  of  the  pleasures  Tom 
Brown's  possess,  Tom  Brown  and  the  other  neigh- 
bors will  think  me  incompetent.'  This  hurts  his 
masculine  pride,  and  he  digs  in  harder  than  ever. 
He  goes  after  the  dollar  with  renewed  vim,  deter- 
mined to  get  it  by  hook  or  crook.  Usually,  of  course, 
— since  others  are  doing  it — he  gets  it  by  crook.  At 
last  the  game  gets  hold  of  him.  He  may  have  all  the 
money  he  needs,  as  I  have  myself,  probably;  but  he 
can't  give  up  the  game.  It  has  him.  He  loves  to  pit 
his  brains  and  experience  against  those  of  other  men. 
He  even  gets  so  hard  that  he  enjoys  seeing  a  com- 
petitor suffer." 

The  speaker  paused  to  relight  his  cigar,  and  the 
listener  put  a  pointed  question. 

"If  it's  the  game  that  appeals  to  you,  why  don't 
you  take  a  sporting  chance  and  side  with  right  occa- 
sionally?" 


Peter  Takes  a  Hand  187 

The  editor  laughed  aloud  at  this  remark,  and  ut- 
tered a  mild  profanity. 

"That  was  rather  clever, "  he  admitted,  chuckling 
over  it  afresh.  "It  almost  calls  my  bluff,  doesn't  it? 
But  you  overlook  one  point,  Bosten" — Peter  was  flat- 
tered with  the  familiarity.  " — Which  is  this.  In 
any  game  a  man  wants  a  fair  chance,  and  there  is 
none  at  all  for  the  champion  of  right.  He  is  up 
against  impossible  odds.  That,  in  the  last  analysis, 
is  why  I  go  on  bluffing  the  public.  Once  in  a  while 
I  take  up  the  cudgel  in  some  worthy  cause,  without 
any  thought  of  profit;  but  I  never  go  to  such  ex- 
tremes as  continued  adherence  to  truth  and  right 
would  carry  me.  I  am  only  human,  you  know;  and 
this  earth  is  far  from  heaven.  The  laws  that  govern 
us  are  imperfect,  so  how  can  you  expect  the  governed 
to  be  perfect?" 

Peter  rarely  ignored  a  direct  challenge  like  this. 
He  loved  argument,  moreover,  with  a  man  of  brain. 

"But  why  should  you,"  he  demanded,  "conform  to 
laws  that  only  men  have  made?  Are  you  not  a  man 
yourself?" 

The  chief  responded  with  a  question.  Irrelevant 
it  seemed  at  the  moment. 

"Do  you  believe  in  God?"  he  asked,  simply. 

"No,"  returned  Peter;  "not  exactly.  At  least  not 
the  kind  of  gt>d  that  most  people  worship.  I  can  not 


188  Peter  Bosten 

comprehend  the  Infinite,  as  many  men  claim  to  do." 

"How  about  religion?" 

"I  reject  it  as  the  creation  of  men;  unnecessary, 
illusory." 

"You  are  an  evolutionist  then?" 

"Yes." 

"Good !"  returned  the  editor.  "So  am  I.  Then  let 
me  remind  you  that  the  onward  march  of  the  uni- 
verse is  ruthless,  unsentimental.  We  are  what  we 
are  because  of  present  and  past  environment.  We 
achieve  what  we  do  by  reason  of  effort,  not  faith. 
We  are  guided  by  laws  that  our  environment  has 
made,  which  can  not  be  more  noble  than  that  en- 
vironment. I,  the  owner  of  the  Evening  Globe,  was 
born  in  this  generation ;  a  generation  in  which  men 
cheat  and  deceive  each  other.  I  am  no  better  or 
worse  than  my  environment.  If  I  had  not  lived 
until  the  year  2500  A.  D.  I  would  have  been  a  nobler 
creature — since  the  evolution  of  man  is  upward.  But 
living  now  I  do  as  my  fellows  now  do.  My  ideals 
are  those  of  to-day,  and  to-morrow's  ideals  are  of  no 
present  use  to  me.  Those  we  call  reformers  are 
dreamers :  they  live  in  the  future  and  do  not  accom- 
plish anything  to-day." 

"But  why  do  they  desire  to  accomplish  something 
unaccomplished?"  Peter  asked,  suddenly. 

"Ah,"  came -the  reply,  "now  you  are  getting  into 


Peter  Takes  a  Hand  189 

religion — which  you  and  I  do  not  accept.  Their  im- 
practical desires  are  the  result  of  the  delusion  we 
know  by  the  name  of  'faith/  It  concerns  the  un- 
known, and  can  have  no  place  in  the  mind  of  a  logical, 
practical  man." 

The  Kansan  was  nonplussed  for  a  moment;  but 
presently  he  recalled  a  statement  of  the  editor's  that 
helped  him. 

"You  asserted  that  the  tendency  of  evolution  was 
'upward.'  What  do  you  mean  by  'upward'?" 

The  smoker  chewed  his  cigar  a  moment  in  silence, 
finally  grinning. 

"I  suppose,"  he  remarked,  "that  I  ought  to  be 
proud  of  a  secretary  with  such  a  faculty  for  argu- 
ment. But  what  are  you  driving  at  in  your  question, 
Bosten  ?  I  don't  believe  you  are  a  Free  Thinker  after 
all." 

The  remark  struck  home.  Peter  wondered  to 
what  extent  the  influence  and  conversation  of  Noel 
Crayne  had  changed  his  habits  of  thought.  Was  he 
reaching  out  for  the  "spiritual  understanding"  which 
Noel  claimed  to  possess? 

"I  try  to  be,"  he  replied.  "But  I  am  not  wedded  to 
any  creed, — the  agnostic's  or  any  other.  What  I  am 
trying  to  find  is  Truth ;  and  discussions  like  this  are 
an  invaluable  aid.  The  question  I  put  to  you  is  one 
I  have  often  put  to  myself.  It  is  easy  to  say  that  the 


190  Peter  Bosten 

trend  of  evolution  is  upward :  but  of  what  standards 
are  we  thinking  when  we  make  the  assertion,  and 
who  has  created  them?  Who  is  the  judge  of  what  is 
elevating  and  what  is  not;  of  the  noble  and  the  ig- 
noble?" 

"Man,"  returned  the  editor,  decisively.  "And  in 
proportion  as  he  develops  in  the  scale  of  life  his 
standards  rise.  The  standards  to-day  are  higher 
than  they  were  yesterday.  You  and  I  live  to-day, 
instead  of  yesterday  or  to-morrow,  and  are  what  we 
are  because  of  our  surroundings.  Therefore,  Bos- 
ten,  don't  join  the  ranks  of  the  Socialists  and  dream- 
ers and  spoil  your  present-day  comforts.  Learn  to 
smoke,  like  me,  and  ease  that  prairie  conscience  of 
yours!  Of  one  thing  in  this  world  we  are  sure:  a 
man  can  be  happy  if  he  wants  to.  Look  at  me :  I  have 
not  scrupled  to  gobble  up  my  neighbor,  just  as  he  has 
not  scrupled  to  gobble  up  somebody  else.  But  I  am 
healthy  and  happy.  And  I  am  respected.  .  .  .  Here, 
take  these  readers  down  to  the  Frolic  Theater  and 
see  if  they  are  satisfactory.  If  not,  write  others. 
They've  been  taking  good  space  lately." 

As  he  walked  toward  the  theater  Peter  reviewed 
his  chief's  answer  to  the  question  regarding  the 
morals  of  evolution,  and  was  far  from  satisfied 
with  the  reply. 

In  fact,  Peter  recognized  that  there  had  been  no 


Peter  Takes  a  Hand  191 

reply  at  all.  The  chief's  words  were  an  equivocation. 
He  had  ignored  the  question.  Instead  of  attempting 
to  give  the  nature  and  origin  of  moral  standards  he 
had  made  the  assumption  that  they  existed  and  pro- 
gressed; but  what  progression  involved,  he  did  not 
attempt  to  say. 

Did  the  editor  comprehend?  Peter  asked  himself. 
Had  the  inner  meaning  of  the  question  been  intelli- 
gible to  him? 

"The  inner  meaning/'  repeated  the  Kans-an.  "What 
is  it,  anyway?  What  is  this  element  reformers  pos- 
sess, which  makes  them  not  only  dissatisfied  with 
their  environment  but  lifts  them  above  it?  What  is 
this  Thing  by  which  we  judge  all  things?  Is  it  the 
same  potentiality  that  Noel  Crayne  and  his  fellow 
believers  possess?  If  so  what  is  its  nature?  And 
why  do  some  men  cherish  it  and  others  fail  to  com- 
prehend it?  If  the  chief  possessed  it  would  he  work 
out  his  unhumanitarian  ideas  and  smoke  himself  into 
complacency  as  he  does?  If  I  were  wholly  without 
it  would  I  have  the  desire  I  have  to  make  myself  and 
the  world  better?" 

Peter  contrasted  the  selfish  principles  his  editor 
cherished  with  the  high  ideals  of  truly  religious  peo- 
ple. The  latter  might  be  deceived,  but  even  so  were 
not  their  beliefs,  and  practices  based  upon  such,  in- 


192  Peter  Bosten 

finitely  more  desirable  from  the  standpoint  of  com- 
mon rectitude  than  those  of  men  like  the  editor? 

"Yes/'  murmured  the  Kansan,  "I  concede  that.  To 
be  honest,  I  must.  But  this  does  not  necessarily 
make  the  ideals  of  religious  people  dependent  upon 
their  beliefs-  There  are  honest,  noble,  striving  ag- 
nostics and  infidels.  The  question  is:  do  men  and 
women  endeavor  to  do  'right*  more  earnestly  with 
faith,  belief  in  heavenly  rewards  and  so  on,  as  an 
incentive,  than  they  would  merely  on  principle?  If 
so,  then  religion  is  desirable — for  the  present,  at  any 
rate.  But  may  there  not  come  a  time  when  human 
beings  will  do  right  and  love  right  for  the  sake  of 
the  thing  itself?  In  that  case,  of  course,  there  would 
still  have  to  be  an  incentive.  And  what  would  it  be? 
What  is  it  in  my  own  life,  for  instance?" 

Here,  as  Noel  had  done  in  mentally  discussing  the 
same  question,  Peter  came  to  the  end  of  reason. 
That  he  had  an  incentive  for  doing  noble  deeds,  for 
aiding  and  loving  his  fellow  men,  for  instance,  he 
was  convinced;  but  what  it  was  he  could  not  deter- 
mine. It  was  a  desire  of  the  heart.  But  whence  had 
it  come?  "From  God,"  said  religionists.  "That  is 
an  assumption,"  murmured  the  thinker.  "I  can  not 
accept  it.  It  does  not  appeal  to  me." 

Yet  Peter  was  unable  to  answer  the  question  him- 
self, and  the  realization  saddened  him.  Noel's  be- 


Peter  Takes  a  Hand  193 

lief  that  the  impulse  to  do  good  came  from  God  made 
him  happy. 

At  the  theater  the  newspaperman  learned  Adele 
Cressy's  address ;  and,  the  readers  having  proven  ac- 
ceptable, called  at  the  hotel  on  his  way  back  to  the 
office.  Peter  was  half  glad  he  had  been  recalled 
from  Philadelphia  so  soon,  for  now  he  had  ample 
time,  before  "The  Prince  of  Pilsen"  left  town,  to 
fathom  the  mystery  involving  Noel  Crayne- 

The  hotel  clerk  gave  him  the  number  of  the  ac- 
tress's room  and  told  him  if  he  did  not  find  her  there 
to  look  in  the  private  parlors.  It  was  while  doing 
so  that  the  Kansan  found  them  in  each  other's  arms, 
as  heretofore  recorded. 

To  say  that  Adele  was  embarrassed,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  she  went  through  love  scenes  before  an 
audience  every  day,  would  be  putting  it  mildly.  She 
colored  violently,  stammered  confused  words  of 
greeting,  and  a  moment  afterwards  excused  herself, 
leaving  the  old  friends  together. 

Owing  to  the  situation  in  which  he  had  been  found 
Noel  was  naturally  not  quite  himself  for  a  while ;  but 
the  presence  of  his  chum  at  length  restored  him,  and 
they  drifted  into  their  old  intimacy. 

"I'm  dying  for  an  explanation  of  all  this,"  grinned 
the  Kansan,  when  he  deemed  the  remark  safe.  "Not 
out  of  idle  curiosity,  you  know." 


194  Peter  Bosten 

"I  know  that,"  Noel  replied,  his  gaze  wavering. 
"  There  were  never  many  superficialities,  let  alone 
conventionalities,  between  you  and  me,  Peter." 

The  tone  was  pensive.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Noel 
was  being  carried  back  to  other  times  and  another 
environment.  Since  last  seeing  Peter  he  had  taken 
leave  of  Jessie  Kirkton,  at  Chicago,  and  expressed  to 
her  a  hope  she  reciprocated,  that  "God  would  open 
the  way  before  them." 

Natural  reaction  from  an  infatuated  condition  of 
mind  was  enhanced  by  the  reminiscences  that  came 
with  Peter. 

The  missionary  did  not  speak  with  his  customary 
lucidity.  He  described  his  work  in  Ladner  and  the 
events  that  had  led  up  to  his  meeting  with  the  actress, 
with  a  certain  languor  of  tone;  attaching,  Peter 
thought,  exaggerated  importance  to  the  opposition 
of  a  fellow  church  member,  and  speaking  of  his  pas- 
sion for  Adele  with  unconvincing  eloquence. 

"My  dear  old  fellow,"  said  the  Kansan,  at  last, 
"you  are  not  yourself.  I  hear  the  voice  and  see  the 
face  I  knew  in  Missouri ;  but  they  seem  to  lack  some 
of  their  old  strength — you  will  forgive  me  for  say- 
ing it."  The  Missourian  was  regarding  him  intently, 
a  troubled  frown  on  his  countenance.  "What  you 
need  is  a  change.  Get  away  from  these  little  minds 
that  can't  stand  the  truth  here  in  Ladner.  Go  back 


Peter  Takes  a  Hand  195 

home  for  the  summer,  and  reinforce  yourself.  You 
should  have  gone  to  conference  this  year,  and  talked 
things  over  with  Jessie.  You're  overdoing  this  re- 
ligious game,  Noel.  And  the  woman  question — 
don't  let  it  upset  you.  This  Cressy  girl  may  be  all 
right ;  in  fact,  I  always  liked  her  in  a  way ;  but  she's 
not  for  you.  I  couldn't  help  overhearing  her  hint 
that  she'd  support  you  by  her  acting  and  carry  you 
along  on  the  road,  as  a  free-lance  artist.  That  sounds 
romantic  at  present,  but  you  wouldn't  last  a  month. 
The  life  would  disgust  you,  Noel — a  man  of  your 
ambitions  and  sentiments.  It's  the  fight  for  you ;  the 
fight  against  ease  and  luxury  and  mortal  foolishness. 
I  can  plainly  see  that.  And  as  for  the  feeling  you 
have  for  Adele — it  wouldn't  last.  It  would  burn 
itself  out  on  one  side  or  the  other.  You  are  both 
temperamental,  both  dipped  in  the  fire,  and  matri- 
mony would  change  your  romance  into  something 
that  would  terrify  you." 

Peter  halted  a  moment,  to  give  his  friend  the  op- 
portunity of  putting  in  a  word ;  but  Noel  sat  like  one 
in  a  stupor,  his  eyes  holding  the  dim  luster  of  pain. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  obvious  that  his  mental  faculties 
were  alert. 

"That  day  you  first  told  me  about  Adele  you  con- 
vinced me,  if  I  had  not  been  already  convinced,  that 
Jessie  Kirkton  was  the  only  girl  in  the  world  for  you. 


196  Peter  Bosten 

You  think  she  is  of  your  own  disposition — but  she 
isn't.  You  are  opposites.  Her  aspirations  may 
correspond  with  yours,  but  her  make-up  is  dif- 
ferent. You  appear  to  be  a  calm,  cool  customer 
on  the  surface;  but  down  beneath  are  fires  that 
would  even  burn  actresses  up  if  they  once  got  go- 
ing. It  is  these  that  hold  Jessie  Kirkton,  too;  just 
as  it  is  her  sweet  calmness  of  soul  that  so  vitally 
appeals  to  your  soul.  Infatuations  may  come  and 
go ;  but  when  the  noon  sun  wanes  and  twilight  calls, 
your  heart  cries  out  for  the  rest  only  one  other  heart 
can  give.  You  know  this;  but  in  moments  like  the 
present,  under  the  spell  of  these  physical  passions  of 
ours,  you  overlook  it — as  all  men  do  at  one  time  or 
another  in  their  lives." 

Noel  had  dropped  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  the 
Kansan's  voice  grew  softer. 

"I'm  glad  I  turned  up,  Noel.  When  a  fellow  fights 
this  battle  alone  he  sometimes  loses  out.  Your  faith 
might  have  helped  you ;  I  don't  know.  But  I  do  know 
that  the  dispassionate  views  of  a  friend,  a  real  friend, 
often  do  help.  I  had  an  attack  myself,  Noel,  before 
I  met  Helen  Dyke.  That  is  how  I  was  so  sure  that 
she  was  the  right  one.  Of  course,  it  hasn't  worked 
out:  but— I  still—." 

He  broke  off,  with  a  sigh ;  then  quickly  changed  his 
tone. 


Peter  Takes  a  Hand  197 

"Cheer  up,  old  top,"  he  said,  striking  the  Missour- 
ian's  knee  heartily,  "it's  all  in  a  lifetime !  We've  got 
to  come  through  it.  When  it's  all  over  we'll  be  wiser, 
and  then  maybe  the  universe  will  give  us  a  rest." 

Noel  raised  his  head  slowly,  and  Peter  saw  the 
phenomenon  of  a  tear — the  tear  that  a  man  may  shed 
once  in  his  life  for  a  woman. 

"Peter,"  he  said,  rather  unsteadily,  "God  sent  you 
to  me.  I  know  he  did.  You  have  been  his  instru- 
ment; you  with  your  human  reasoning  and  knowl- 
edge gained  in  the  fight,-  These  few  words  of  yours 
seem  to  have  made  a  new  person  of  me.  I  see  things 
differently  than  I  did  half  an  hour  ago.  Come,  let 
us  go  for  a  walk — out  into  the  fresh  air."  But  the 
Missourian  checked  himself.  "No,"  he  said,  "there's 
Adele.  I  can't  go  away  like  this." 

"Sure  you  can,"  returned  Peter.  "Leave  Adele  to 
me." 

It  flashed  across  the  missionary's  mind  that  this 
might  be  another  turn  in  an  unseen  plan  that  would 
work  out  for  the  best.  Peter  and  Adele  might  form 
an  attachment, — who  knew?  Without  another  word 
he  followed  the  Kansan  out,  his  mind  reverting  to 
the  marvel  of  Peter's  "instrumentality." 

"Yes,"  he  resumed,  on  the  street,  "in  spite  of  your 
faithlessness,  Peter,  the  Lord  has  used  you.  Oh,  I 
wish  you  could  believe  in  his  mercy  and  love  as  I  do !" 


198  Peter  Bosten 

Peter  was  silent.  In  truth,  he  was  analyzing  a 
half -formed  wish  in  his  own  heart  that  did  not  alto- 
gether antagonize  Noel's.  Faith  must  be  sweet,  after 
all:  to  feel  assurance  that  an  all- wise  Power  ever 
guided  in  the  affairs  of  men,  despite  their  littleness, 
would  be  infinite  consolation.  Wishing,  however,  did 
not  seem  to  make  this  faith  possible. 

"By  the  way,"  asked  the  Missourian,  after  a  short 
silence,  "were  you  serious  in  suggesting  that  I  go 
back  West  for  a  visit?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Peter,  "and  you're  going, 
too.  I've  got  the  money  to  spare  and  I'm  just  dying 
to  put  it  out  at  interest.  Noel,  old  boy,  it's  not  for 
your  own  sake  alone.  Think  of  Jessie.  These  hearts 
of  ours  demand  a  certain  amount  of  attention,  you 
know.  That  ought  to  be  clear  to  you  after " 

"It  is,  Peter ;  it  is !  I  believe  I'll  accept  your  advice 
— and  your  help.  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  put  myself 
under  further  obligation  to  you." 

Noel  then  told  him  of  having  resigned  the  pastor- 
ship of  Ladner  Branch,  and  the  (agnostic  agreed  that 
it  was  a  sensible  thing  to  do,  under  the  circum- 
stances. But,  even  as  he  thus  expressed  himself, 
there  was  a  conviction  in  his  mind  that  the  Noel 
Crayne  of  the  future  should  deal  more  masterfully 
with  such  a  situation. 

"And  Peter,"  said  the  Missourian,  as  they  parted, 


Peter  Takes  a  Hand  199 

for  the  time  being,  at  the  Globe  office,  "I  hope  you 
will  sound  as  convincing  to  Adele,  when  you  see  her, 
as  you  did  to  me." 

"Where's  you  faith?"  laughed  the  Kansan,  disap- 
pearing through  a  revolving  door. 

"Where,  indeed !"  murmured  Noel,  turning  in  the 
direction  of  his  boarding  house,  and  thinking  sol- 
emnly of  his  first  great  temptation. 


200  Peter  Bosten 


CHAPTER  XII 
IN   JOURNALISM 

PETER  got  an  hour's  leave  from  his  employer  and 
went  immediately  back  to  the  Quincy  Hotel.  He 
wanted  to  interview  the  actress  before  she  should 
have  a  chance  to  see  Noel. 

En  route,  he  decided  upon  a  plan  of  attack.  He 
would  make  her  feel  that  she  had  grossly  wronged 
both  the  church  and  a  pair  of  true  lovers. 

Adele  was  still  in  her  room,  and  she  consented  to 
interview  the  caller  whom  a  bellboy  had  announced. 
Peter  awaited  her  in  the  parlor  they  had  occupied  a 
short  time  since,  strengthening  his  psychologic  posi- 
tion the  while.  He  felt  that  he  knew  the  way  of 
temperamental  persons  better  than  the  unsophisti- 
cated missionary  did,  and  was  not  in  fear  of  going 
down  to  defeat  before  the  actress. 

He  observed,  as  she  entered,  that  her  eyes  were 
not  tear-marked  and  that  her  dress  had  been 
changed.  Evidently,  instead  of  sobbing  on  a  pillow, 
she  had  been  improving  slightly  on  nature.  That  she 
could  do  so,  Peter  hardly  felt  competent  to  deny. 
Truly,  she  did  look  beautiful  in  this  dainty  attire. 

"Miss  Cressy,"  he  said,  rising,  "I  came  to  apolo- 


In  Journalism  201 

gize  for  interrupting  you  a  while  ago,  and  to  have  a 
little  chat,  if  you  don't  mind?" 

She  smiled.    "Aren't  you  rather  formal?" 

"Perhaps,"  he  laughed.  "But  you've  become  so 
great  I'm  rather  shaky  in  your  presence,  you  know." 

She  waved  the  gallantry  aside,  but,  obviously,  was 
not  altogether  displeased  with  it. 

"We  were  choir  members  together  in  Missouri, 
weren't  we?  And,  oh  yes — do  you  remember  the 
ghost  party  at  Garners'?  Why,  that  was  where  we 
first  got  really  acquainted,  wasn't  it?" 

"I  believe  it  was."  He  sighed,  genuinely ;  an  item 
that  did  not  escape  her.  "Those  were  the  best  times 
I  ever  spent  in  my  life."  Peter  unwittingly  lapsed 
into  reverie,  the  while  she  studied  him. 

By  and  by  she  spoke,  softly. 

"I  met  a  friend  of  yours  not  long  ago,  Mr.  Bosten. 
She's  attending  Princeton  University  now." 

The  Kansan  could  feel  the  blood  suffusing  his 
cheeks;  but  he  casually  answered:  "Oh,  is  that  so?" 
After  which,  with  great  alacrity,  he  changed  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation. 

"I  suppose  you  have  a  lot  of  callers  in  a  day,  and 
I  won't  keep  you  here  any  longer  than  I  can  help. 
Frankly,  Miss  Cressy,  I  came  on  Noel's  behalf — are 
you  surprised?" 


202  Peter  Bosten 

She  returned  his  gaze  scrutinizingly. 

"Did  Noel  send  you?" 

"No  indeed.  He  doesn't  know  I  am  here."  A 
pause.  "Adele," — he  put  intimacy  into  his  tone  as 
well  as  his  speech,  "you  are  worlds  wiser  than  our 
missionary.  He  is  a  baby  in  experience  compared 
with  you.  Do  you  understand  what  I  am  getting  at?" 

She  became  indignant  immediately,  necessitating 
a  little  severity  on  the  Kansan's  part. 

"I  see  that  you  do,"  he  continued.  "Now  listen 
here,  it  isn't  fair  to  do  what  you're  doing.  Do  you 
think  it  is?" 

She  rose,  as  if  to  leave;  and  Peter  became  des- 
perate. 

"You  haven't  got  the  courage  to  listen  to  me — is 
that  it?" 

Pride  seized  her,  at  this,  and  sitting  down  again 
she  eyed  him  with  hostility,  her  color  exceedingly 
high. 

"I  can't  see,"  she  observed,  with  more  than  a  touch 
of  sarcasm,  "where  you  come  in,  Mr.  Bosten." 

He  grinned  under  the  thrust,  and  deemed  it  ad- 
visable to  remain  good-natured. 

"That's  how  all  the  trouble  started,"  he  answered. 
"I  did  come  in.  And  I'm  thinking  it  was  a  stroke  of 
fate.  You  had  him  pretty  well  hypnotized,  if  you'll 
pardon  the  expression.  You  know,  Miss  Cressy, 


In  Journalism  203 

Noel  hasn't  the  heart  to  refuse  anybody  anything. 
He's  too  good-natured  to  live.  I  wish  you  could  have 
seen  him  a  moment  after  you  had  gone,  though. 
Honestly,  he  almost  cried." 

A  flash  of  pity  crossed  her  face,  and  the  orator 
followed  up  his  advantage.  He  used  every  means 
known  to  him  of  convincing  a  woman  of  her  cruelty. 
He  became  eloquent  upon  the  ideal  affection  existing 
between  a  bishop's  niece  and  a  lonesome  young 
dreamer,  away  off  at  the  end  of  the  earth ;  intimated 
that  any  fascinating  woman  who  would  take  advan- 
tage of  such  a  situation,  particularly  when  she  knew 
it  meant  the  severing  of  religious  as  well  as  heart  ties, 
must  be  very  wicked  indeed ;  spoke  of  the  infatuation 
a  person  of  temperament  may  wrongfully  exercise 
for  a  sympathetic  fellow  artist,  and  of  the  singular 
unhappiness  of  marriages  based  upon  such  infatua- 
tion: in  fact,  dissertated  at  such  great  length  and 
with  such  apparent  earnestness  that  finally  the  ac- 
tress wept  real  tears  and  acknowledged  that  she  had 
been  guided  by  passion  rather  than  reason. 

At  this  stage  of  the  interview  Peter  began  admin- 
istering the  balm  of  sympathy,  in  the  form  of  the 
nobler  kind  of  flattery;  finally  enjoying  the  supreme 
satisfaction  of  seeing  a  gradual  change  in  Adele's 
feelings  toward  him.  Before  he  left  her  they  shook 


204  Peter  Bosten 

hands  warmly  and  made  an  engagement  for  dinner 
together  after  the  theater. 

"Something  mighty  honest  about  that  girl,  at 
that/'  he  soliloquized  on  leaving  the  hotel. 

All  the  way  back  to  the  office  he  thought  of  her; 
excusing  her  actions  toward  Noel  on  the  grounds  of 
temperament,  of  which  she  undoubtedly  possessed  a 
liberal  share;  sympathizing  with  her  on  this  score, 
in  fact,  and  hoping  it  would  not  be  the  cause  of  sor- 
row in  her  life.  That  she  had  kept  herself  unspotted 
thus  far  he  believed :  that  she  would  continue  to  do 
so  he  found  it  harder  to  believe.  There  was  no  more 
difficult  path  to  honestly  tread  than  that  which  led 
from  the  footlights  to  the  stage  door.  Reading  and 
reportorial  observation  had  convinced  the  Kansan  of 
that. 

Noel  and  Jessie  had  deserted  his  thoughts  com- 
pletely, for  the  moment.  Their  happiness  was  now 
assured.  But  Adele  Cressy,  the  actress  who  had 
sung  her  first  songs  in  prayer  meeting,  and  risen 
to  music-hall  fame  in  a  few  months,  remained  in 
his  mind.  He  speculated,  too,  on  the  influence  of 
her  personality.  He  could  feel  it  now  himself,  as  he 
had  felt  it,  to  some  extent,  the  morning  they  had  met 
in  the  basement  of  the  Petit  City  church.  What  if, 
one  day,  she  should  choose  to  fancy  him?  Would  he 
be  able  to  resist  her? 


In  Journalism  205 

A  cynical  smile  crept  over  the  Kansan's  face  at 
the  reflection.  He  recalled  his  one  and  only  real  love 
affair  and  the  distrust  that  had  killed  it.  No, — no 
more  of  that  for  him.  He  was  through  with  such 
pangs.  Helen  Dyke  might  be  at  Princeton  a  thou- 
sand times,  or  might  live  on  the  same  street  with 
him,  for  all  he  cared.  The  gulf  would  always  remain 
between  them.  Nor  was  it  a  gulf  of  faith,  <as  far 
as  Peter  could  see.  It  was  <a  gulf  of  moral  suspicion. 
She  did  not  believe  in  him,  regardless  of  his  creed. 
That  was  the  bitter  thought,  the  stumblingblock  to 
his  happiness. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  Noel  departed  for  the 
West,  without  bidding  Adele  farewell.  She  ex- 
pressed herself  to  Peter,  who  dined  with  her  twice 
before  "The  Prince  of  Pilsen"  left  town,  as  "just  as 
glad  they  were  spared  the  awkwardness  of  a  part- 
ing"; and  Peter  noted  with  gratification  that  the 
tears  did  not  stand  in  her  eyes,  either. 

However,  let  it  be  said  that  even  the  shrewd  and 
feminine-suspecting  Kansan  did  not  know  woman 
thoroughly.  He  failed  to  give  Adele  credit  for  the 
strength  of  character  she  possessed.  He  did  not 
know  how  sorely  she  strove  against  misery  at  this 
time.  He  saw  her  at  the  train,  as  she  departed  for 
another  city ;  but  did  not  see  into  her  stateroom  when 
the  train  moved  out. 


206  Peter  Bosten 

Noel  did  not  dissemble  so  well  as  the  actress  before 
their  mutual  friend,  Peter.  His  cheeks  had  lost 
color,  in  one  short  week;  and  now,  as  he  said  those 
simple  words  which  meant  "God  be  with  you,"  his 
voice  was  unsteady. 

"Dear  old  fellow,"  murmured  the  Kansan,  as  he 
turned  back,  rather  heartsick  himself,  to  this  city 
that  held  nothing  of  particular  interest  to  him  now, 
"I  wish  I  were  going  with  you." 

In  the  Missourian's  presence  Peter  always  felt 
happy.  Noel  added  something  to  his  life  that  came 
close  to  making  it  complete. 

Now,  however,  he  was  alone  again.  Ladner  might 
be  a  "small  puddle"  (to  use  the  Park  Row  editor's 
metaphor)  as  compared  with  New  York ;  but  it  was 
big  enough  to  make  a  stranger  feel  lost. 

Peter  was  reflecting,  one  afternoon,  several  weeks 
after  his  friend's  departure,  on  the  perversity  of  a 
fate  that  should  keep  on  separating  them  like  this, 
when  the  "chief"  rang  for  him. 

"Go  up  to  this  address,"  came  the  order,  "and  get 
a  story  from  the  new  preacher  who  is  staying  there. 
One  of  the  big  guns  in  this  church  has  promised  to 
take  weekly  space  if  we'll  pay  some  attention  to  their 
congregation.  Seems  their  religion  needs  popu- 
larity; so  Mr.  What's-his-name  is  going  to  buy  some, 


In  Journalism  207 

and  he  thinks  we're  the  fellows  who  sell  it.  I  guess 
we  are  too,  eh,  Bosten  ?" 

Peter  was  treated  with  informal  good-fellowship 
by  his  employer  when  the  latter  was  not  smoking  too 
much. 

"I'm  afraid  we  are,"  he  replied.  "By  the  way, 
how  did  you  like  that  last  editorial  of  mine?" 

"Terrible,"  returned  the  editor.  "Too  true  to  life 
and  too  literary.  You'll  have  to  get  down  to  earth." 

"I  thought  you  said  it  was  true  to  life?" 

"Yes — Oh,  get  out  of  here  and  don't  bother  me. 
And  remember,  give  that  guy  a  boost,  no  matter  how 
big  a  scoundrel  he  is." 

Mechanically  the  secretary-reporter-hack  betook 
himself  off,  musing  on  the  Shame  of  Journalism.  He 
made  a  mental  note  of  the  title,  deciding  to  write  an 
essay  on  it  in  his  spare  time,  and  not  submit  it  for 
publication. 

The  name  on  his  memorandum  slip  seemed 
vaguely  familiar  to  Peter,  but  he  could  not  remem- 
ber where  he  had  heard  it.  The  address  denoted  an 
aristocratic  locality. 

"Rather  ironical,"  he  soliloquized,  walking  in  the 
shade  of  a  row  of  great  chestnuts,  "that  a  fellow  of 
my  convictions  should  be  assigned  a  job  of  this  sort. 
This  is  loathsome  work,  this  fawning  upon  wealth. 


208  Peter  Bosten 

I'll  sicken  of  it  one  of  these  days  and  fly  away  to 
the  hills." 

He  entered  a  heavy  iron  gate  and  walked  up  a 
gravel  path  leading  to  broad  steps  of  brownstone, 
which  gave  access  to  a  series  of  verandas  surround- 
ing the  mansion.  Here,  he  smiled  to  himself,  was 
"filler"  for  an  article,  in  case  the  preacher  proved  un- 
worthy of  description. 

A  maid  admitted  him,  and  he  was  immediately 
confronted  by  an  attractive-looking  young  woman 
of  perhaps  twenty,  whose  mode  of  dress  suited  her 
features  and  comported  with  her  environment.  She 
seemed  very  pleased  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a 
representative  of  the  Evening  Globe,  and,  with  a 
freer  manner  than  he  had  anticipated,  led  the  Kan- 
san  into  a  large  drawing  room — which  he  would  have 
described  with  the  one  word  "golden." 

"The  gentleman  you  came  to  see  has  not  come  in 
yet,"  she  informed  him,  "but  we  expect  him  any  mo- 
ment. Do  you  mind  waiting?" 

"Not  at  all,"  he  replied,  with  a  faint  smile,  gal- 
lantly adding,  "under  the  circumstances." 

She  blushed  a  trifle  but  outwardly  ignored  his 
compliment,  and  referred  to  a  civic  topic  that  was 
of  interest  to  most  Ladnerites.  He  discovered  that 
she  possessed  a  versatile  mind,  but  judged  it  to  be 
an  idle  one.  They  were  becoming  quite  friendly 


In  Journalism  209 

when  the  parson  arrived.  He  stood  in  the  doorway 
a  moment,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Peter's.  Presently  the 
Kansan  was  also  staring  at  him. 

"Didn't  we  meet  in  Petit  City?"  asked  the 
preacher,  advancing  toward  the  reporter. 

"I  remember  now,"  returned  Peter,  extending  his 
hand.  "It  was  at  Craynes'.  You  are  Mr.  Rollins. 
I'm  glad  to  meet  you  again." 

Miss  Jacobs  gazed  at  both  of  them  bewilderedly. 

"Millicent,"  said  Rollins,  turning  to  her,  "Mr.  Bos- 
ten  is  an  old  friend  of  Noel  Crayne's." 

Expressing  agreeable  surprise,  Millicent  yielded  to 
the  formal  introduction,  and  remarked  that  any 
friend  of  "Brother  Crayne's"  was  welcome  in  their 
home. 

Peter  remembered  now  where  he  had  heard  the 
name  "Jacobs."  Noel  had  mentioned  it  in  connec- 
tion with  the  fatal  business  meeting,  where  the  be- 
ginning of  everything  had  happened.  These  were 
the  people  wTho  had  been  the  cause  of  his  resignation. 

The  Kansan  also  recalled  his  first  impression  of 
Rollins.  This  representative  of  Noel's  church  had 
stood  out  among  Mrs.  Crayne's  remarkable  little 
party  as  the  only  half-sincere  man  present.  That 
he  should  have  gravitated  to  the  society  of  the 
Jacobses,  and  to  a  pleasant  pasture  like  the  Ladner 


210  Peter  Bosten 

"branch,"  was  not  surprising.  Doubtless  he  had 
worked  to  that  very  end  for  a  long  time. 

So  ran  Peter's  thoughts  as  he  exchanged  common- 
places with  the  preacher  whom  the  "shame  of  jour- 
nalism" compelled  him  to  eulogize. 

Millicent  asked  them  to  excuse  her,  saying  that  she 
knew  her  mother  would  like  to  meet  a  friend  of  the 
former  pastor's;  and  while  she  was  gone  Peter  felt 
uncomfortable.  He  was  not  at  home  in  the  company 
of  this  clerical. 

Mrs.  Jacobs  soon  came  in,  however,  radiating  wel- 
come as  profusely  as  she  did  perfume;  and  the  re- 
porter was  made  to  feel  how  mighty  is  the  press. 
After  displaying  his  wit  a  little  and  observing  with 
secret  pride  that  he  impressed  Mrs.  Jacobs,  he  was 
rewarded  with  an  invitation  to  remain  for  dinner, 
which  he  could  not  decently  refuse,  "under  the  cir- 
cumstances"— the  circumstances  again  having  to  do 
with  the  pretty  daughter.  No  newspaperman  of  any 
standing  whatever  can,  in  justice  to  his  profession, 
ignore  the  feminine  in  matters  of  business.  They 
are  responsible  for  much  news  and  many  sensations, 
upon  which  the  best  of  journals  depend  for  their  cir- 
culation. Pleasing  the  Jacobses,  in  this  case,  was 
pleasing  the  Evening  Globe:  the  fount  of  Peter's 
material  blessings  just  now. 

Moreover,  if  further  excuse  for  his  remaining  to 


In  Journalism  211 

dinner  be  needed,  he  wanted  to  study  these  members 
of  Noel's  church,  who  were  different  from  the  others 
with  whom  he  had  associated. 

"Have  you  known  Mr.  Crayne  very  long,  if  I  may 
ask?"  said  Mrs.  Jacobs,  as  if  casually.  And  before 
answering,  the  skeptical  Kansan  transformed  the 
question,  thus:  "Do  you  know  Mr.  Crayne  well 
enough,  I  wonder,  to  be  his  confidant?  Has  he  told 
you  about  the  business  meeting?" 

"We've  been  friends  for  something  over  two 
years,"  he  replied.  "But,  unfortunately,  I  haven't 
seen  much  of  him  since  he  became  a  missionary  for 
your  church.  It  was  just  my  luck  that  he  chanced 
to  be  leaving  Ladner  as  I  arrived.  We  had  scarcely 
any  time  together  at  all." 

This  answer  obviously  relieved  Mrs.  Jacobs's 
mind.  The  cautious  look  left  her  eye  and  she 
launched  into  a  eulogium  upon  the  character  of  Noel. 
Peter  knew  it  to  be  rank  hypocrisy,  and  wished  she 
would  stop  before  he  was  goaded  into  saying  some- 
thing sarcastic.  Millicent,  however,  came  to  the  res- 
cue. She  was  more  honest  than  either  her  mother  or 
Rollins,  Peter  thought,  as  he  glanced  from  one  to  the 
other.  At  dinner  he  decided  that  Millicent  was  the 
choice  of  the  family. 

Arthur,  the  son,  was  typical  of  a  class  Peter  de- 
spised. Polite,  tactful,  superficially  charitable,  inor- 


212  Peter  Bosten 

dinately  complimentary,  and  deplorably  insincere. 
And  if  Arthur  was  the  chip,  his  father  was  the  block. 
Peter's  estimate  of  this  family  practically  coincided 
with  Noel's. 

It  was  apparent  that  <all  of  them,  with  the  possible 
exception  of  Millicent,  sought  to  impress  him.  Even 
the  daughter  was  carried  away,  at  intervals,  with 
the  impression  that  she  was  dealing  with  a  fright- 
ened member  of  the  church.  She  was  several  times 
on  the  verge  of  a  grand  platitude,  when  a  man-of-the- 
world  twinkle  in  the  reporter's  eye  halted  her. 

Peter  realized,  with  considerable  conceit  but  not 
many  thrills,  that  she  liked  him  and  was  half  afraid 
of  him.  He  even  conceived  (with  egotistic  candor 
of  thought)  of  the  possibility  of  an  infatuation  on 
her  side ;  sincerely  hoping,  however,  that  no  such  con- 
tingency would  ever  arise. 

The  dinner  was  the  best  Peter  had  ever  eaten.  He 
told  Mrs.  Jacobs  so,  in  his  unmannerly,  frank  way, 
when  it  was  finished ;  establishing  himself,  thereby, 
more  firmly  in  her  regard.  She  beamed  on  him  dur- 
ing coffee. 

The  Kansan  had  a  new  experience  at  this  sump- 
tuous meal.  Although  duly  impressed  with  the 
grandness  of  the  occasion,  he  had  an  absurd  inclina- 
tion to  indulge  in  impolite  laughter.  Something 
amused  him  so  much  he  could  scarcely  contain  him- 


In  Journalism  213 

self.  He  tried  to  ascertain  what  the  disturbing  fac- 
tor was,  finally  deciding  that  it  was  the  entire 
absence  of  Sincerity.  He  thought  in  capitals,  again, 
and  noted  the  title  for  a  new  essay. 

Probably  the  good  food  and  stimulating  coffee 
might  have  something  to  do  with  it,  he  mused:  me- 
chanically answering  questions  affecting  life  in  Petit 
City  and  New  York,  the  while.  Or  the  fact  that  they 
were  feeding  him  for  the  news  column  he  was  to 
write,  might  be  to  blame. 

Again,  the  absence  of  religious  conversation,  at 
this  the  table  of  a  popular  member  of  Noel's  church, 
might  be  responsible  for  his  inward  hilarity;  the 
outcome,  he  felt,  of  mere  brutish  enjoyment. 

Was  this  how  they  lived  all  the  time — apart  from 
the  idea  and  fact  of  material  sacrifice?  Was  this 
the  way  all  rich  families  lived :  circling  round  a  full 
table  and  a  heap  of  ephemeral  topics?  The  agnostic 
could  not  help  wondering. 

The  usual  philosophizings  occupied  his  inner  mind, 
as  he  conversed  about  nothing. 

In  the  evolution  of  mankind,  how  small,  how  mean 
was  this  stomach-feeding  present !  The  scene  before 
him:  well-dressed  men  and  charming  women  (one 
of  them  at  least)  ;  a  full  board  surrounded  by  little 
minds :  how  futile,  how  foolish  it  seemed ! 


214  Peter  Bosten 

Tiring  at  length  of  their  tongue-talk,  Peter  threw 
out  a  challenge  to  the  minister. 

"Do  you  think,  Mr.  Rollins,"  he  asked,  "that  this 
civic  reform  which  is  going  on  now  in  every  city, 
has  the  proper  elements  within  it  to  make  for  per- 
manent improvement?" 

Mr.  Rollins  was  a  long  moment  comprehending  the 
question,  but  finally  succeeded  in  returning  a  com- 
promising answer,  which,  in  fact,  said  nothing.  Then 
Mr.  Jacobs,  who  was  plainly  thirsting  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  ventilate  his  views  observed : 

"It  all  lacks  one  thing,  Mr.  Bosten,"  he  said — "the 
Spirit  of  God." 

Peter  could  scarcely  have  been  more  startled,  in- 
tellectually. Had  he  heard  aright?  Had  this  well- 
dressed  barbarian  ("barbarian"  is  the  word  he  had 
in  mind)  descended  to  metaphysics,  to  the  spiritual, 
in  one  casual  swoop?  Why,  he  spoke  as  though  the 
thought  involved  were  very  familiar  to  him. 

However,  the  agnostic  recovered  from  his  surprise 
as  the  speaker  proceeded  to  elucidate. 

"He  is  familiar  with  spiritual  terminology,"  mused 
Peter,  eyeing  his  reflection  in  a  platter;  "it  is  a  les- 
son he  has  learned,  superficially,  as  I  believe  he  has 
learned  the  lesson  of  life.  The  real  significance  of 
it  may  not  be  apparent  to  him.  In  fact,  to  whom  is 
it  apparent?" 


In  Journalism  215 

"To  Noel  Crayne,"  answered  a  voice  from  nowhere. 

Peter  glanced  quickly  at  Rollins.  But  it  was  ob- 
vious that  the  minister  had  not  made  the  remark. 
He  was  joking,  in  an  undertone,  with  Arthur  Jacobs. 
Whence  had  the  voice  come?  Strange! — it  seemed 
so  real. 

"An  illusion/'  he  thought;  pursuing,  however,  re- 
flection of  the  message  brought. 

Noel  Crayne,  then,  comprehended  the  meaning  of 
this  phrase  the  "Spirit  of  God."  The  influence,  of 
whatever  nature  it  might  be,  that  made  for  adequate, 
lasting  reform,  was  called  the  "Spirit  of  God" :  and 
Noel  Crayne  understood  it. 

Peter  could  not  rid  his  mind  of  the  reflection. 
Even  while  he  wrote  the  news  column  about  Theo- 
dore Rollins  and  the  great  work  that  the  gentleman 
had  come  to  Ladner  to  accomplish,  this  other  thought 
was  revolving  in  his  brain.  It  troubled  him  as  he 
closed  his  eyes  in  sleep,  even  projecting  itself  into 
his  dreams. 

One  consideration  reconciled  the  Kansan  to  the 
flattering  spirit  of  his  article  on  Rollins :  the  fact  that 
individuals  whom  Noel  Crayne  loved  and  had  labored 
among,  would  benefit  by  the  advertisement.  The 
church  of  which  Noel  was  so  conscientious  a  mem- 
ber needed  the  publicity.  That  was  enough  for 
Peter. 


216  Peter  Bosten 

When  the  article  appeared  appreciations  began 
coming  in  to  the  editor,  and  so  he  took  the  trouble 
to  read  what  his  employee  had  written. 

"Bosten,"  he  said,  "you  put  your  heart  into  that 
thing.  How  did  you  do  it?  Is  this  sky-pilot  all  you 
claim  for  him — and  the  rest  of  them?" 

"I'm  thinking,"  grinned  the  reporter,  "that  it  was 
'the  rest  of  them*  I  had  in  mind  when  I  wrote,  rather 
than  Mr.  Rollins.  However,  I'm  glad  it  had  an 
effect." 

"Good  business,"  returned  the  chief,  and  repeated, 
"good  business." 

Peter  was  also  called  up  on  the  telephone  and  in- 
vited to  the  place  again.  They  were  having  a  party. 

Chiefly  because  he  was  lonely,  he  accepted ;  and 
his  associations  with  this  family,  superficial  and  dis- 
appointing though  they  were,  strengthened.  The 
family  had  their  good  points,  when  all  was  said. 

Finally  they  induced  him  to  take  a  vacation  with 
them  down  to  the  shore.  He  was  not  enthusiastic 
until  Millicent  told  him  a  religious  reunion  was  being 
held,  at  which  some  of  the  leading  lights  of  their 
church  would  be  present,  and  where  there  would  be 
outdoor  sports. 

Millie  thought  it  was  mention  of  the  sports  that 
first  enlisted  his  interest;  but  the  truth  was,  Peter's 
intellect  and  heart  were  longing  for  the  companion- 


In  Journalism  217 

ship,  distant  though  it  might  be,  of  such  minds  as 
the  Sterns'  and  Noel  Crayne's  again.  That  they 
would  be  found  at  the  reunion  he  had  no  doubt.  He 
was  at  a  loss  to  quite  understand  this  longing,  but 
that  was  a  familiar  feeling  with  Peter. 

It  was  arranged  that  he  should  share  Arthur 
Jacobs's  tent,  paying  his  own  way,  however;  and 
spend  a  week  at  the  shore.  His  "chief"  told  him  to 
keep  his  eye  open  for  sensations  and  bring  back  a 
healthier  complexion. 


218  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  XIII 

AN  EASTERN  REUNION 

REGRETS  were  Peter's  portion,  as  a  result  of  his 
acquiescence  in  the  Jacobs  holiday  plan,  until  he 
came  to  the  spot  chosen  by  the  reunion  for  its  en- 
campment. Then,  as  he  gazed  over  the  area  of  tents, 
half  hidden  in  the  grove  beyond  the  clearing,  upon 
the  sparkling  waters  and  a  white  beach  that  glistened 
through  the  trees,  he  forgot  the  patronizing  airs  of 
his  host,  and  was  glad  he  had  come. 

Arthur's  tent  had  already  been  pitched  by  the  but- 
ler, who  had  considered  it  an  outrage  that  a  man  of 
his  standing  should  be  forced  to  leave  the  city  on  an 
errand  of  this  nature.  The  Kansan  murmured,  as 
he  stepped  through  the  slit  in  the  canvas,  that  money 
was  a  pretty  handy  thing  after  all.  Perhaps  the  first 
object  that  engaged  his  attention  was  a  guitar  in  one 
corner  of  the  tent. 

"Hello,"  he  said,  "do  you  play  that?" 

"No,"  returned  Arthur;  "but  Millie  does  a  little. 
The  mandolin  is  my  instrument — there  it  is  under 
the  writing  table." 

"When  Miss  Jacobs  isn't  around,  then,  we'll  have 
a  bachelor's  duet.  I  strum  the  guitar  myself,  after 
a  fashion." 


An  Eastern  Reunion  219 

As  there  was  a  lull  in  the  camp  and  nothing  in 
particular  to  do  for  the  moment,  Arthur  suggested 
that  they  throw  back  the  flaps  and  tune  up,  to  which 
suggestion  Peter  readily  agreed,  being  curious  to 
know  something  of  his  fellow  camper's  attainments. 

For  the  first  time,  the  unimpressionable  Kansan 
was  agreeably  surprised  in  Arthur.  The  latter 
played  well,  not  always  on  one  string  alone,  and  could 
even  sing  an  acceptable  tenor.  Peter  swung  in  with 
him  easily,  performing  some  bass  runs,  and  finding 
the  harmony  as  readily  as  he  had  done  back  at  col- 
lege. 

"By  Jove,"  said  Arthur,  when  they  had  finished  the 
first  attempt,  "when  Millie  hears  that  you'll  never  get 
her  to  touch  the  thing  again !" 

Peter  grinned,  apologetically,  explaining  that  he 
had  merely  picked  it  up  unscientifically. 

"All  the  same,  Bosten,  you're  right  there." 

Soon  the  melody  penetrated  to  drowsy  ears,  and 
tent-flaps  began  to  open  within  a  radius  of  fifty 
yards.  By  and  by  the  boys  and  girls  began  coming 
around,  most  of  whom  greeted  Arthur  with  genial 
familiarity,  declaring  that  they  knew  in  their  sleep 
he  had  come  to  camp. 

The  Kansan  began  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
athletic  young  men  and  "stunning"  maidens.  (As  a 
newspaperman  he  must  be  allowed  occasional  col- 


220  Peter  Bosten 

loquialisms  of  this  nature) .  In  the  course  of  an  hour 
or  two,  as  the  joyous  company  which  now  filled  Ar- 
thur's tent  and  extended  also  in  a  semicircle  before 
it,  joined  in  whatever  song  was  started,  old-time  or 
' 'popular/'  Peter  had  decided  they  were  very  much 
like  the  Missouri  boys  and  girls  of  this  same  church. 
He  felt  his  heart  warm  toward  them,  and  was  con- 
scious of  a  species  of  joy  which  he  had  not  known 
since  coming  East. 

As  evening  came  on,  however,  and  the  cicadas 
filled  the  air  with  their  singing,  the  Kansan  was  car- 
ried back  to  other  groups  of  merry-makers,  where 
sat  one  dearer  to  him  than  the  rest;  a  creature  of 
olive  complexion,  undeceivable  eyes  and  peculiar 
grace.  Although  he  mechanically  followed  the  har- 
mony, his  soul  no  longer  responded ;  it  was  suffering 
again  the  old  pangs  and  battling  with  an  emotion 
that  seemed  likely  to  live  always. 

When  the  company  dispersed  for  supper,  Millie 
came  to  him  with  glowing  eyes  and  told  him  how 
clever  he  was. 

"Is  there  anything  you  can't  do?"  she  asked. 

He  pretended  to  think  a  moment,  seriously,  and  a 
foolish  answer  came  to  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  Had  he 
considered  it  a  second  longer  he  would  have  re- 
strained it. 


An  Eastern  Reunion  221 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  impulsively,  "I  can't  fall  in 
love." 

The  folly  of  the  reply  and  the  blushes  it  had 
brought,  like  fire,  to  the  cheeks  of  Miss  Jacobs  em- 
barrassed the  speaker  and  he,  too,  blushed.  He  tried 
to  laugh  it  off ,  but  it  was  one  of  those  flippant  re- 
marks that  do  not  dissolve  in  laughter.  Each  knew 
the  other's  mirth  to  be  forced. 

From  that  indiscreet  moment  Millicent  became 
noticeably  coy  in  his  presence.  And,  for  various  rea- 
sons :  because  he  rather  liked  Millie ;  because  he  was 
good  natured ;  and  because  young  persons  were  pair- 
ing off  all  over  the  camp :  Peter  began  to  "go  around" 
with  her.  There  was  something  in  the  air  that  made 
it  easy  to  do  so. 

Saturday  evening  they  attended  preaching  service 
together  in  the  big  tent ;  and  while  the  opening  hymn 
was  being  sung,  with  the  soul  and  sincerity  that 
these  people  put  into  all  their  worship,  Peter  felt 
an  awakening  of  the  old  thrills. 

Did  the  laws  of  psychology  account  for  this?  he 
asked  himself.  If  so,  why  had  he  not  felt  it  in  the 
churches  on  Fifth  Avenue,  where  he  had  gone  occa- 
sionally on  a  Sunday  night,  during  his  lonely  life  in 
Manhattan  ?  Were  there  not  psychological  forces  at 
work  in  an  aristocratic  congregation  as  well?  Doubt- 
less. But  they  did  not  thrill  him.  Therefore,  they 


222  Peter  Bosten 

could  not  have  been  of  the  same  quality  as  these 
forces  surrounding  the  activities  of  Noel's  church. 

Thus,  by  a  different  route,  did  the  Kansan  arrive 
at  an  idea  which  Noel  Crayne  had  labored  to  con- 
ceive. 

He  was  pondering  over  this  idea,  quite  oblivious  to 
Millie's  presence,  when  the  voice  of  the  preacher 
roused  him. 

A  short,  broad-shouldered  man  of  unclerical  ap- 
pearance was  speaking.  He  had  the  face  of  a  sea 
captain  and  the  mien  of  a  farmer;  but  his  intellect, 
Peter  soon  discovered,  was  a  thing  refined.  The 
sentences  came  somewhat  brokenly,  but  not  one  of 
them  lacked  a  point.  The  speaker  built  his  argu- 
ment with  the  care  and  certainty  of  a  master  builder ; 
hewing  away  the  false  from  the  true  with  clear  vis- 
ion ;  laying  fact  upon  fact  with  admirable  precision. 

"Here's  a  logician — like  President  Stern,"  mur- 
mured the  Kansan. 

Nevertheless,  this  man  with  the  brain  of  a  sci- 
entist took  the  step  that  carried  him  beyond  Peter's 
sight,  as  the  President  had  done  that  conference  Sab- 
bath in  Petit  City,  and  as  other  exponents  of  Noel's 
faith  had  done. 

Peter  sighed.  "Why,"  he  asked  of  the  universe, 
"is  my  mind  at  variance  with  the  minds  of  these  men 


An  Eastern  Reunion  223 

whom  I  admire?  Why  do  not  I  cherish  the  faith 
they  cherish?" 

Next  morning  he  had  occasion  to  still  further  in- 
terrogate the  unknown.  He  attended  the  nine  o'clock 
prayer  meeting,  which  was  considered  the  "spiritual 
feast"  of  the  day,  and  saw  and  heard  there  that 
which  was  most  bewildering. 

One  old  gentleman,  gentle  but  calm  of  speech,  had 
recited  the  story  of  his  religious  career  briefly,  and 
was  counseling  younger  men  to  follow  "the  straight 
and  narrow  way,"  when  his  hand  was  raised,  as  if 
by  a  will  other  than  his  own,  and  he  uttered  words 
that  made  the  congregation  weep.  Peter,  himself, 
felt  considerable  emotion ;  but  he  fancied  it  was  the 
psychologic  effect  of  all  this  mind-harmony  and  ad- 
mirable sincerity  of  heart. 

Nevertheless,  during  the  intermission  that  pre- 
ceded preaching  service,  he  found  himself  still  im- 
pressed, and  disinclined  to  engage  in  casual  conver- 
sation. He  strolled  down  a  quiet  path  into  the  grove 
and  reflected  on  what  he  had  heard  and  seen. 

Did  these  people  have  the  truth  after  all?  Was 
Jesus  Christ  the  Son  of  God,  the  God  of  these  be- 
lievers, and  was  his  gospel  really  the  "plan  of  sal- 
vation"? If  so,  then  it  was  impossible  to  reject  such 
strange  phenomena  as  the  morning  prayer  meeting 
had  presented.  They  were  no  more  incomprehen- 


224  Peter  Bostetv 

sible  than  simple  faith  in  God's  existence  and  Christ's 
divinity ! 

The  eleven  o'clock  sermon  chanced  to  be  in  har- 
mony with  the  Kansan's  reflections.  It  was  deliv- 
ered by  the  youngest  member  of  the  Twelve  Apostles ; 
a  fair,  mild-mannered  man  upon  whose  countenance 
Thought  had  placed  her  benediction,  and  in  whose 
voice  there  were  no  wavering  notes.  He  announced 
that  he  would  speak  about  "first  principles" ;  which 
he  did;  dwelling  upon  the  necessity  for  faith,  then 
repentance  from  sin  and  baptism  by  immersion.  The 
carnal  mind  having  been  thus  subdued  by  the  "will 
of  God,"  this  earthly  temple  was  in  a  condition  to 
receive  the  "gift  of  the  Holy  Spirit."  After  that 
came  "good  works,"  upon  which  one  depended  most 
of  all  for  "inheritance  in  the  Kingdom  of  God"  here- 
after and  the  privilege  of  coming  forth  at  "the  first 
resurrection." 

There  was  none  of  the  old  familiar,  irrational  doc- 
trine, so  consoling  to  duty-shirkers,  of  grace-salva-' 
tion,  heavenly  "special  privilege"  and  the  divine 
"rights  of  the  few."  It  was  a  democratic,  meritor- 
ious doctrine  this  young  man  preached,  free  from 
apologies  for  "influence"  and  wrongdoing;  and  when 
the  sermon  was  finished,  Peter  enthusiastically  mur- 
mured : 


An  Eastei-n  Reunion  225 

"By  Jove,  if  the  Bible  be  true  these  people  are  the 
nearest  right  of  any !" 

At  noon  he  looked  around  the  dining  tent  for  signs 
of  Western  celebrities,  hoping  the  well-remembered 
face  of  President  Stern  would  stand  out  from  the 
others.  But  Millie,  who  was  sitting  across  from  him 
beside  Arthur,  informed  him,  in  answer  to  a  query, 
that  Mr.  Stern  was  on  the  Pacific  coast  at  present. 

Three  o'clock  marked  the  beginning  of  another 
sermon,  which  the  Kansan  was  waiting  to  hear ;  for 
he  had  just  been  introduced  to  the  speaker:  a  short, 
jolly  gray-haired  man  whose  age  it  was  impossible  to 
determine.  He  was  one  of  the  drollest  individuals 
Peter  had  ever  met.  Usually  the  Kansan  was  hard  to 
please,  in  the  matter  of  wit;  but  he  found  himself 
smiling  in  advance  when  this  gentleman's  lips  showed 
signs  of  moving. 

However  this  inclination  was  soon  forgotten  when 
Mr.  Freely  began  his  sermon.  It  seemed  to  one  of 
his  listeners,  at  least,  that  he  had  taken  his  cue  from 
the  morning  speaker's  remarks.  At  any  rate  he  re- 
ferred to  the  same  text,  but  based  his  argument  on 
the  clause,  "Let  us  go  on  unto  perfection  "  (Hebrews 
6:1),  rather  than  that  which  enumerated  the  "prin- 
ciples of  the  doctrine  of  Christ." 

Mr.  Freely  was  eloquent.  He  had  a  style  that  in- 
dicated a  taste  for  literature,  if  not  capabilities  in 


226  Peter  Bosten 

that  direction.  But  it  was  not  the  form  that  ap- 
pealed most  to  Peter:  it  was  the  substance. 

The  speaker  spoke  of  the  necessity  for  good  works 
upon  the  part  of  believers.  "Faith  without  works  is 
dead,"  he  quoted.  He  went  into  the  psychology  of 
the  thing,  showing  how  easily  deceived  a  satisfied 
mind  becomes.  He  referred  to  history  in  instanc- 
ing the  bigotry  religious  complacency  generates. 

"No  heart  and  no  mind,"  he  remarked,  in  the 
course  of  his  sermon,  "is  beyond  the  pernicious  in- 
fluence of  illusory  faith.  I  submit  to  you,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  brothers  and  sisters,  that  true  faith  in- 
volves intelligent  conception  and  consistent  conduct." 

The  Kansan  wanted  to  make  some  such  exclama- 
tion as  "Whew !"  at  this  point. 

"I've  got  to  have  <a  chat  with  that  man,"  he  re- 
solved. 

And  before  the  speaker's  remarks  were  concluded 
Peter  had  strengthened  in  this  resolution. 

He  carried  it  out,  too,  late  in  the  afternoon ;  being 
directed  to  Mr.  Freely's  tent  by  Mrs.  Jacobs,  who 
considered  him  "a  good  talker  but  inclined  to  be  ex- 
treme in  his  views." 

"Often,"  she  remarked,  reclining  on  a  mountain 
of  cushions  in  Arthur's  tent,  "I  think  our  mission- 
aries would  do  more  good  if  they  paid  greater  atten- 


An  Eastern  Reunion  227 

tion  to  the  outsiders  and  less  to  people  inside  the 
church/' 

Which,  by  the  way,  was  about  as  honest  a  state- 
ment as  the  Kansan  had  ever  heard  her  make. 

Mr.  Freely  was  caught  in  the  act  of  reading  a  vol- 
ume Peter  quickly  recognized  as  the  product  of  a 
skeptic-socialist's  brain. 

"Why,  Mr.  Freely,"  he  said,  smilingly,  "I'm  sur- 
prised at  you." 

The  preacher  enjoyed  his  situation,  apparently. 

"Don't  tell  on  me,"  he  returned.  "Excommunica- 
tion or  the  rack  might  follow — one  never  knows. 
We  still  live  in  a  barbarous  age." 

"I  agree  with  you."  The  Kansan  felt  at  home  al- 
ready. Here  was  a  mind  which,  he  believed,  would 
follow  his,  and  which  he  could  follow  with  the  inter- 
est that  comes  only  with  mental  striving.  "But,"  he 
added,  "as  excommunication  could  only  happen  to 
you  inside  the  church,  why  do  you  refer  to  barbar- 
ism!" 

It  was  said  by  his  admirers  that  Freely  never  had 
to  think  for  an  answer.  He  did  not  hesitate,  now, 
at  any  rate. 

"We  have  them  in  the  church,  Mr.  Bosten,  I'm 
afraid." 

"The  intellectual  kind,  you  mean?" 

"All  kinds.    'The  Kingdom  of  God  is  like  a  net  cast 


228  Peter  Bosten 

into  the  sea.'  We  find  sharks,  crabs  and  lobsters  in 
it." 

Peter  laughed  at  the  simile. 

"But  seriously,  Mr.  Freely,"  he  rejoined,  "you  peo- 
ple claim  to  have  the  'fullness  of  the  gospel/ 
Shouldn't  you  be  better  than  those  who  cherish  only 
part  of  it — as  you  believe  the  other  denominations 
do?" 

"We  should  be,  yes.  If  we  lived  up  to  our  message 
we  would  be  perfect.  But  that  we  do  not  live  up  to 
it  is  no  reflection  upon  the  message  itself." 

"Granted.  But  don't  you  claim  to  be  actuated  by 
the  Spirit  of  God  to  a  fuller  extent  than  those  you 
call  'sectarians'?" 

The  preacher's  countenance  became  more  sober. 

"I  believe,  Mr.  Bosten,"  he  answered,  "that  a  good, 
intelligent  member  of  our  faith  is  the  highest  type 
of  Christian,  or,  in  other  words,  of  man.  If  I  did  not 
believe  so  I  would  ally  myself  with  a  denomination 
that  appealed  to  me  more.  The  gospel  as  we  have 
been  taught  it,  through  Christ  and  by  the  inspira- 
tion of  God's  Spirit  in  this  age,  represents  the  high- 
est conception  of  right  to  me.  That  I  see  a  failure 
upon  the  part  of  myself  and  others  to  fully  live  up  to 
its  requirements  does  not  decrease  my  faith  in  its 
beauty,  its  divinity.  You  must  realize  that  principle 
can  not  be  degraded  by  personalities,  Mr.  Bosten? 


An  Eastern  Reunion  229 

If  there  is  any  degradation,  it  happens  to  the  person- 
alities." 

"That's  clear  enough.  But  it  seems  to  me,  Mr. 
Freely,  that  if  your  church  is  in  fact  the  Kingdom  of 
God  on  earth, — assuming  there  is  a  God  who  con- 
cerns himself  minutely  with  human  affairs — its 
power  and  influence  should  be  greater.  It  should  be 
much  freer  from  hypocrisy  and  ignorance  than  it  is.' 

Peter  intended  his  words  should  convey  a  chal- 
lenge. He  wanted  to  rouse  this  intellectual  member 
of  Noel's  church  to  aggressive  action.  But  the  face 
he  saw  before  him  became  sad,  instead  of  flaming; 
and  the  look  he  received  was  one  of  sympathy  and — 
it  seemed  to  the  agnostic — doubt.  He  liked  Mr. 
Freely  more  than  ever. 

"I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  apologizing  for  ineffi- 
ciency, in  religion  or  anything  else,"  returned  the 
missionary;  "and  if  I  were  I  should  not  try  it  on  an 
intellect  like  yours.  I  want  to  tell  you  something, 
Mr.  Bosten:  I  believe  you  will  understand.  By  the 
way,  you  are  a  Free  Thinker,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes.    Did  you  just  surmise  it?" 

"I  would  soon  have  guessed  it;  but  as  a  matter  of 
fact  Noel  Crayne  told  me  about  you  once.  But  what 
I  was  going  to  say  to  you  was  this:  the  same  ques- 
tions you  have  asked  me,  I  have  asked  myself  a 
thousand  times.  There  are  moments  when  I  seem 


230  Peter  Bosten 

to  be  aware  of  a  strange  inconsistency  in  the  whole 
thing.  Yet,  these  doubts  pass  away.  My  reason  tells 
me  that  nowhere  is  there  a  people  even  as  far  ad- 
vanced, morally,  as  we.  That,  I  believe,  is  a  mere 
statement  of  fact.  We  have  sinners ;  but,  my  friend, 
we  have  saints  too.  There  are  many  of  God's  sweet- 
est characters  in  this  church." 

"I  believe  you,  Mr.  Freely.  Their  companionship 
exerts  a  happy  influence  on  myself.  There  is  some- 
thing about  your  prayer  meetings,  so  simple  and  sin- 
cere, that  draws  me.  Yet,  I  keep  asking  myself, 
would  not  these  same  people  be  what  they  are  in  spite 
of  any  faith?" 

The  minister  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  older  than  you,"  he  answered  kindly,  "and 
experience  tells  me  not.  Here  I  have  knowledge  to 
support  my  faith." 

"But  I  thought  true  faith  was  not  dependent  upon 
knowledge?" 

For  the  first  time  the  preacher  hesitated,  in 
thought. 

"Faith,  of  the  kind  I  possess  myself,  is  impossible 
to  define,"  he  said,  presently.  "It  is  intimately  as- 
sociated with  thought,  reason,  desire,  each  of  which 
seems  to  strengthen  it.  But,  Mr.  Bosten,  when  it 
first  came  to  me,  it  came  in  a  flood ;  sweeping  me  on- 
ward in  a  strange  rush  of  joy  and  completeness.  I 


An  Eastern  Reunion  231 

did  not  stop  to  ask  what  it  was.  I  yielded  myself  to 
its  heavenly  influence,  and  thanked  God  for  its  ad- 
vent." 

"So  it  was  really  a  thing  of  the  emotions,  after  all? 
And  therefore,  Mr.  Freely,  in  what  respect  was  it 
different  from  the  other  psychological  influences  that 
come  we  know  not  whence — sometimes  at  the  drama, 
indeed — and  surge  through  our  being  ?" 

The  preacher's  face  lighted  up ;  the  sadness  faded. 

"I  am  glad  you  asked  that  question.  I  was  waiting 
for  it.  The  true  answer  to  it  constitutes  the  best 
earthly  argument  in  favor  of  faith.  The  difference 
between  this  influence  and  those  others  you  have 
mentioned,  Mr.  Bosten,  lies  in  the  desires  it  leaves. 
Your  theatergoer  leaves  his  box  impressed,  perhaps, 
but  unregenerated.  A  club  sandwich  and  a  glass  of 
wine  take  the  moral  bad  taste  out  of  his  mouth.  He 
goes  home  thinking  of  the  next  day's  business  in- 
stead of  the  truths  the  playwright  has  sought  to 
bring  home  to  him.  In  all  these  psychologic  forces 
that  play  upon  our  emotions  there  is  manifest  a  ten- 
dency to  pass.  Some  of  them  disappear  as  swiftly  as 
they  come,  even  leaving  misery  in  their  wake.  But 
in  this  faith  of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  the  kind 
that  came  into  my  own  heart  at  any  rate,  there  was 
something  vital  and  lasting ;  something  that  sent  my 


232  Peter  Bosten 

soul  in  quest  of  greater  things  than  I  had  ever 
known." 

For  a  long  time  the  Kansan  was  silent.  Here,  at 
last,  was  a  thoughtful  explanation  of  the  phenome- 
non he  had  observed. 

He  recalled  the  conversation  about  moral  reform 
at  the  Jacobs  table,  and  the  transient  impression  Mr. 
Jacobs's  reference  to  "the  Spirit  of  God"  had  left—- 
transient because  of  a  conviction  that  there  was  in- 
sufficient sincerity  behind  the  words.  But  now  the 
phrase  assumed  life  again,  in  the  light  of  Freely 's 
interpretation ;  and  Peter  warned  his  brain  that  per- 
haps its  analytical  methods  were  indeed,  as  osten- 
sibly spiritual  individuals  had  told  him,  carnal  and 
"at  enmity  against  God." 

But  he  subjected  even  this  thought  to  the  "test  of 
incredulity,"  and  looking  up  suddenly  he  asked  the 
preacher  how  he  had  induced  this  faith  of  his,  or 
whether  he  had  encouraged  it  at  all. 

"The  Lord  recognized  my  honesty  of  desire,"  came 
the  answer.  "This  desire  drove  me  to  search  the 
Scriptures,  in  which  I  found  the  statement:  'If  any 
of  you  lack  wisdom  let  him  ask  of  God  that  giveth  to 
all  men  liberally' ;  and  I  took  the  Bible  at  its  word. 
I  prayed  earnestly  for  light.  Finally  the  light  came." 

Peter  was  aware  of  a  sudden  reaction  within  him. 


An  Eastern  Reunion  233 

He  recalled  his  efforts  to  pray,  and  the  sentimental 
consequences. 

"What  if  you  had  no  faith  in  prayer?"  he  asked. 
"No  faith  at  all  in  anything  having  to  do  with  the  un- 
known?" 

Mr.  Freely,  at  this,  expressed  a  belief  which  cor- 
responded with  an  utterance  of  Noel's,  to  the  effect 
that  if  a  heart  is  honest  it  will  be  "led"  to  have  faith 
in  God. 

"But  this  is  an  assumption,  in  the  final  analysis," 
said  Peter;  "is  it  not?" 

"From  the  standpoint  of  human  reason  it  is," 
agreed  the  preacher. 

He  did  not  continue  with  "buts"  and  "howevers"; 
but  ended  at  the  verb  "to  be." 

"So,  as  usual,"  returned  the  Kansan,  as  though 
speaking  to  himself,  "we  come  to  the  dividing  line." 

After  a  pause  Mr.  Freely  replied,  pensively :  "Yes, 
I  suppose  that's  about  it." 

A  moment  later  he  was  called  to  supper  by  his 
wife,  from  outside  the  tent,  and  having  an  engage- 
ment with  Millie  Jacobs,  Peter  betook  himself  off. 

He  had  neither  appetite  for  feminine  company 
nor  appetizing  food,  however.  He  was  conscious  of 
restless  thoughts  and  vague  longings ;  and  could  not 
forget  the  half-light  of  sympathy  in  Freely's  eyes. 
It  troubled — aggravated  him. 


234  Peter  Bosten 

Being  in  the  same  state  of  mind  after  supper  he 
went  off  by  himself,  down  toward  the  shore.  The 
singing  of  cicadas  in  the  grove,  the  sighing  of  the 
trees,  and  the  phosphorescent  glow  of  the  waters, 
combined  to  perpetuate  his  yearnings.  Here,  in  the 
semi  darkness,  the  voices  of  Nature  stirred  his  heart. 
They  seemed  to  be  calling  to  him,  as  the  lights  upon 
the  waves  beckoned  him,  on  and  on  he  knew  not 
whither. 

"0  Christian's  God  and  the  God  of  Noel  Crayne," 
he  soliloquized,  gazing  along  the  shoreline  against 
which  the  restless  waters  splashed,  "if  there  be  such 
a  being  as  you,  and  if  in  this  puzzling  world  it  is  re- 
quired of  us  mortals  to  believe  in  you,  why  can  not  / 
have  faith?" 

No  >answer  came  to  him  out  of  the  darkening  sky, 
no  murmur  across  the  waves.  He  called  in  vain  to 
the  Unknown. 

"Ah,"  he  murmured;  "illusion!    All  is  illusion!" 

But  just  then  the  sound  of  voices,  growing  nearer, 
echoing  in  the  grove  behind,  drifted  upward  from 
the  beach.  Some  of  the  camp  girls  were  coming  to- 
ward him,  arm  in  arm  for  protection  against  the 
darkness :  an  element  they  feared  but  which,  never- 
theless, fascinated  them. 

Peter  wished  they  would  turn  up  the  shell-path 
and  leave  him  to  his  reverie ;  but  heedless  of  his  wish 


An  Eastern  Reunion  235 

they  moved  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  spot  where  he 
sat  silent  and  unobserved.  It  occurred  to  him  to 
flee;  but  reflecting  that  the  action  might  frighten 
them  into  a  panic,  he  sat  still,  in  the  hope  that  they 
would  overlook  him. 

However,  they  were  not  thus  considerate.  With 
the  perversity  of  innocence  they  came  directly  to- 
ward him;  until  finally  he  had  to  make  his  mys- 
terious presence  known  by  a  cough. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  he  called,  seeing  that  his  cough 
had  been  about  as  startling  in  its  effects  as  any- 
thing imaginable ;  "it's  only  one  of  the  boys  from  the 
camp." 

"It's  Mr.  Bosten,"  he  heard  one  of  the  number 
whisper;  after  which  assurance  they  all  approached. 

One  member  of  the  company,  he  noticed,  hung 
back  a  little;  and  upon  her  he  peered  most  intently 
through  the  darkness. 

"Helen!"  he  cried,  softly  but  tensely.  "Is  that 
you?" 

The  others,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  had  dis- 
solved into  the  night. 


236  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  XIV 

A  GULF  BETWEEN 

HELEN  walked  back  to  camp  with  the  Kansan,  al- 
lowing the  rest  of  the  company  to  go  ahead. 

The  two  of  them  endeavored  to  speak  in  casual 
tones;  but  it  was  apparent  to  each  that  the  other 
labored  under  difficulties.  They  talked  of  super- 
ficialities, for  the  time  being,  since  their  mutual  pres- 
ence sufficed. 

"You  see,"  she  explained,  "I  just  arrived  by  motor 
with  some  friends  late  this  afternoon;  and  as  my 
head  ached  this  evening  the  girls  compelled  me  to 
take  the  air." 

"You  have  probably  been  studying  too  much,"  re- 
turned Peter,  pensively;  and  a  silence  threatening 
to  fall,  added :  "I  heard  you  were  at  Princeton." 

"It  is  possible  I  did  overwork  a  little,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"What  are  you  going  to  make  of  yourself,  Helen?" 
There  was  no  sarcasm  in  the  tone. 

"That  would  be  hard  to  say,  Peter." 

Her  answer  did  not  satisfy  him,  of  course.  He 
wanted  her  to  say  that  she  could  never  make  any- 
thing of  herself  without  his  aid ;  yet  he  knew  a  girl 
could  not  make  a  statement  of  this  character. 


A  Gulf  Between  237 

As  they  came  into  the  camp  area  the  sound  of 
string  music  became  audible,  and  Peter  suddenly 
realized  that  Helen  Dyke's  arrival  had  put  him  in 
an  awkward  predicament.  In  a  few  days'  time  Millie 
Jacobs  had  come  to  take  his  attentions,  mild  though 
they  were,  for  granted;  and  considerable  trouble 
would  undoubtedly  be  precipitated  if  he  deserted  her 
for  another.  Millie's  pride  would  undergo  a  severe 
test,  as  news  of  this  sort  rapidly  spreads  in  a  camp 
of  young  folks;  and  he  would  probably  be  obliged 
to  move  out  of  Arthur's  tent. 

However,  the  Kansan  reflected,  all  this  was  incon- 
siderable where  Helen  was  involved.  If  uncomfort- 
able predicaments  could  win  her,  how  gladly  would 
he  seek  them! 

The  group  of  singers  had  gathered  around 
Arthur's  tent,  as  was  their  custom  after  evening 
service,  and  as  Peter  approached,  with  the  fair  Mis- 
sourian,  he  was  hailed  by  several  of  them.  Millie 
then  caught  sight  of  him;  but  instead  of  calling  to 
him,  put  down  her  guitar  and  almost  unobserved, 
stole  out  through  the  rear  of  her  brother's  tent,  after 
whispering  to  him  something  that  evidently  excused 
her  in  his  eyes.  Immediately  Arthur  called  to  the 
newspaperman  to  take  up  the  guitar,  which  Peter 
was  compelled  to  do,  sorely  against  his  will,  by  the 
entreating  company. 


238  Peter  Bosten 

However,  when  he  got  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing 
he  was  rather  glad  of  the  occasion  to  remind  Helen 
of  old  times.  Often  he  had  strummed  in  the  center 
of  a  Petit  City  group,  as  now ;  taking  his  inspiration 
from  dark  eyes,  the  like  of  which  he  knew  no  other 
individual  in  the  world  possessed. 

She  took  her  place  in  the  company,  beside  the  girl 
friends  she  had  deserted  on  the  beach,  and  soon  the 
Kansan  distinguished  her  voice  in  the  singing.  He 
thought,  too,  that  he  could  feel  her  gaze  in  the  dark- 
ness ;  but  that  may  have  been  only  his  romantic  im- 
agination. 

They  were  obliged  to  part  for  the  night  in  the 
presence  of  others,  which  made  an  exchange  of  in- 
timacies impossible.  Consequently  Peter  could  not 
accurately  determine  the  state  of  Helen's  feelings. 
But  he  allowed  no  doubts  to  assail  him  as  he  winged 
his  way  into  a  happy  dreamland.  Nor  had  these 
mortal  tormentors  place  within  him  the  following 
morning. 

He  rose  early  and  strolled  down  toward  the  shore, 
reveling  in  the  glory  of  a  Jersey  sunrise.  The  sounds 
and  scents  of  Nature  thrilled  his  being  with  a  happi- 
ness that  is  only  possible  to  a  lover — and  a  youthful 
one.  The  suntrack  over  the  waters  eastward  was  a 
golden  pathway  leading  to  Happiness,  and  he  was 
about  to  set  out  upon  it  with  sure  feet.  There  was 


A  Gulf  Between  239 

room  for  but  two  thereon,  to  begin  with;  but  as  it 
neared  the  horizon  the  path  widened,  making  way 
for  many  feet. 

So  like  the  pathway  of  a  full  life,  thought  the  Kan- 
san.  Two  true  lovers  began  it,  confining  their  in- 
terest to  each  other,  oblivious  of  the  world;  but  as 
they  advanced  their  affections  included  children, 
faithful  friends,  blessed  memories. 

The  sight  of  a  boathouse  down  along  the  shoreline 
gave  Peter  an  idea.  He  would  invite  Helen  to  take 
a  canoe  trip  with  him.  They  might  carry  lunch 
along,  and  spend  a  whole  day  on  the  water. 

This  plan,  indeed,  he  was  able  to  carry  out.  For- 
tune favors  everyone  at  some  time  or  another.  Peter 
doubted  the  possibility  of  such  happiness  until  he 
felt  the  canoe  move  under  him,  saw  the  retreating 
shore, — and  a  familiar  figure  in  the  stern.  It  had 
seemed  too  good  to  be  true :  but  it  was  true. 

He  did  not  philosophize  upon  it,  however,  just 
now.  His  mind  was  too  full  of  Helen  to  admit  of 
abstract  thoughts.  It  was  one  of  those  times  when 
there  is  no  sorrow,  no  gloom  upon  earth ;  only  happi- 
ness and  peace. 

So  it  was  with  them  for  hours.  He  recounted  his 
experiences  in  the  East,  casually;  making  no  men- 
tion, however,  of  the  bitterness  he  had  carried  away 
with  him  from  Petit  City.  Neither  did  she  mention 


240  Peter  Bosten 

this  thing;  but  spoke  rather  of  the  knowledge  she 
had  gained  among  the  professors  of  learning,  and 
also  of  the  chaff  she  had  rejected. 

The  inference  contained  in  the  word  "chaff,"  that 
a  "child  of  God"  had  the  power  to  distinguish  "the 
tares  from  the  wheat,"  was  not  lost  upon  Peter, 
whose  state  of  feeling  began,  at  once,  to  undergo  a 
subtle  change.  He  was  aware  of  an  element  of  an- 
tagonism against  Helen's  views.  Until  this  moment 
he  had  thought,  under  the  spell  of  love,  that  the  old 
wound  was  healed.  But  even  a  few  hours  had  shown 
him  that  it  still  burned. 

Peter  endeavored  to  analyze  the  phenomenon  of 
so  sudden  a  reaction  from  happiness;  and,  with  the 
candor  to  which  he  had  accustomed  himself,  reflected 
that  he  had  been  presupposing  a  change  in  Helen's 
religious  attitude;  ignoring  the  probability  of  her 
strict  adherence  to  the  ideals,  or  ideas,  that  had  been 
the  cause  of  their  separation. 

Now  he  must  face  it.  Complete  happiness  could 
only  be  possible  in  perfect  understanding.  It  were 
vain  to  go  on  deceiving  himself  like  this,  through  the 
sunny  hours;  for  evening  darkness  would  come  and 
he  must  be  prepared  to  meet  it. 

He  felt  there  was  something  cruel  in  dispelling, 
with  a  question,  the  sweet  delusion  under  which  she 
was,  evidently,  willing  to  let  the  thoughtless  hours 


A  Gulf  Betiveen  241 

pass.  But  it  were  better  to  have  an  understanding 
out  here  on  the  water,  where  neither  of  them  could 
walk  away  in  wounded  spirit  from  the  other,  than  to 
broach  the  matter  in  camp. 

Thus  resolved,  the  Kansan  began  his  diagnosis,  in 
fear  and  trembling;  a  blush  mantling  Helen's 
countenance  when  she  realized  what  he  was  about. 

Nevertheless,  she  did  not  beg  him  to  postpone  the 
ordeal. 

"Peter,"  she  replied  to  his  question  in  a  subdued 
tone,  "I'm  glad  you  spoke  of  this.  I  have  been  feel- 
ing since  last  night  that  we  were  not  quite  honest 
with  each  other.  Now  the  gulf  is  bridged." 

"But  is  it?"  he  returned,  eagerly. 

Her  mysterious  eyes  were  holding  his. 

"I  mean,"  she  explained,  "that  we  have  surren- 
dered our  self-deception,  and  are  going  to  be  frank 
with  each  other.  The  gulf  you  are  thinking  of, 
Peter,  can  only  be  closed  up  in  one  way." 

There  was  a  note  of  resolution  in  her  voice  that 
told  him  what  he  wanted  yet  dreaded  to  know.  But 
it  was  not  triumphant.  On  the  contrary,  it  sounded 
almost  despairing. 

After  a  heavy  silence  he  regarded  her  with  an 
appealing  look. 

"Helen,  dear,"  he  said,  assuming  as  steady  a  tone 


242  Peter  Bosten 

as  passible,  "why  do  you  persist  in  doubting  my 
honor  like  this?" 

"Forgive  me,  Peter,"  she  answered,  "if  it  seems 
so  to  you.  But  I  can  not  see  it  in  that  light.  It  is  a 
question  of  faith  and  duty." 

He  marshaled  the  forces  of  his  mind  in  an  en- 
deavor to  discover  a  common  ground  whereon  they 
might  meet. 

"Helen,"  he  asked,  "has  it  ever  occurred  to  you 
that  I  might  pretend  to  accept  your  faith,  just  for 
the  sake  of  you?  That,  after  all,  is  an  old  trick  of 
lovers." 

She  smiled  unhappily. 

"You  are  not  that  kind  of  a  man,  Peter." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  he  rejoined  quickly. 

"I  know  it,"  she  said,  emphatically,  "just  as  I 
know  that  there  is  something  vital  which  keeps  you 
from  believing  in  God." 

"Then  for  God's  sake,"  he  cried,  -with  a  sudden 
burst  of  passion,  "tell  me  what  this  vital  thing  is !" 

The  blood  had  filled  his  cheeks  and  his  eyes  were 
not  the  eyes  of  the  ordinary,  philosophic  Peter. 

Helen,  too,  had  colored  deeply.  Evidently  his  an- 
ger hurt  her. 

"That  is  for  you  to  find  out,"  she  returned,  after 
a  tense  pause;  "and  the  only  way  to  do  it  is  by 
prayer." 


A  Gulf  Between  248 

"Prayer,"  he  repeated,  not  angrily  now  but  with 
subdued  scorn.  All  memory  of  soul-tranquility  ex- 
perienced in  the  midst  of  these  peculiar  people,  of 
mental  inspiration  and  the  wavering  of  mortal  rea- 
son, vanished  under  the  spell  of  heart  anguish.  He 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  endless  blank  months 
to  come.  A  vision  of  his  desk  at  the  Globe  office  rose 
before  him ;  around  it  clustered  the  shadows  of  city 
acquaintances,  superficial,  insincere,  and  the  atmos- 
phere of  earth-dust  that  had  always  sickened  him. 
This  was  the  existence  to  which  Helen's  stubborness 
consigned  him.  He  resented  it;  it  was  not  fair. 

"You  ask  me  to  sacrifice  my  intellect,"  he  told  her. 
"You  demand  that  I  make  a  fool  and  hypocrite  of 
myself.  There  is  no  act  I  could  perform  that  would 
involve  more  deceit  than  getting  down  on  my  knees, 
Helen,  and  praying  to  a  God  in  whom  I  can  not  be- 
lieve— of  whom  I  can  not  conceive.  Your  own 
preacher,  Freely,  told  me  only  yesterday  that  the 
kind  of  faith  he  possessed  was  associated  with  knowl- 
edge and  intelligent  conception.  But  I  lack  this 
faculty,  if  a  faculty  it  is,  or  this  habit,  of  divine  con- 
ception. And  I  can  not  believe  in  prayer.  Why,"  he 
went  on,  somewhat  excitedly,  "should  an  all-wise 
eternal  Father  require  his  earthly  children  to  beg  for 
the  things  they  need?  Even  an  earthly  father  antici- 
pates the  wants  of  his  children.  If  God,  the  God  in 


244  Peter  Bosten 

whom  you  believe,  knows  what  is  for  our  good  why 
should  he  withhold  it  from  us?  To  induce  us  to  flat- 
ter him  on  our  knees?  To  wheedle  us  into  asking 
for  the  wrong  thing,  in  our  ignorance,  and  thus  make 
a  mockery  of  prayer?  No,  Helen,  it  doesn't  appeal 
to  my  reason.  I  can  not  and  will  not  accept  it,  be- 
cause acceptance  would  only  be  superficial  with  me 
and  would  brand  me  a  liar  and  a  hypocrite." 

This  outburst  had  the  effect  of  bringing  tears  into 
Helen's  eyes,  which  softened  the  Kansan ;  but  when 
he  realized  that  they  were  tears  of  pity,  as  well  a;, 
love,  he  lost  patience  again  and  admitted  that  his 
day's  pleasure  was  spoiled. 

The  admission  subtly  reminded  them  that  they 
were  two  mere  lovers  made  of  flesh  and  blood,  sub- 
ject to  the  whims  of  Cupid;  so  they  quarreled  on 
technical  grounds  and  returned  to  camp  without 
having  tasted  their  lunch.  There  the  Kansan  was 
met  by  Millicent  Jacobs,  whose  rather  chilling  pres- 
ence suggested  an  idea  to  him.  By  taking  her  out  in 
the  canoe  he  and  Helen  had  just  left  he  could  accom- 
plish three  important  things :  give  Helen  wound  for 
wound;  forget  their  disagreement,  to  some  extent; 
and  atone  to  Millie  Jacobs  for  his  temporary  deser- 
tion. Needless  to  say  the  first  reason  appealed  to 
him  most.  He  had  a  stronger  desire  than  upon  the 
occasion  of  their  last  quarrel,  to  hurt  her.  The  Kan- 


A  Gulf  Betiveen  245 

san,  filled  as  he  was  with  hateful  pangs,  would  prob- 
ably have  gone  even  so  far  as  to  humiliate  her. 
While  loving  her  he  hated  her:  such  is  the  incon- 
sistency of  human  passion. 

After  considerable  coaxing  he  pursuaded  Millie  to 
accompany  him.  Peter  knew  he  was  doing  an  ig- 
noble thing  and  hated  himself  for  it ;  but  the  tide  of 
his  anguish  bore  him  along  with  such  force  he  had 
not  the  power  to  resist  it. 

Through  the  balance  of  the  afternoon  he  flattered 
and  accepted  flattery,  playing  upon  the  surface  of 
artificial  pleasure,  speaking  only  superficial  thoughts. 
But  down  beneath  the  surface  there  was  heavy 
gloom  and  a  silent  chill,  as  there  was  in  the  depths 
of  the  waters  upon  which  they  drifted.  In  the  back 
of  his  mind  he  meditated  sadly  upon  the  gulf  that 
separated  him  from  his  love,  growing  more  and  more 
bitter  against  the  Fate  that  had  pitted  itself  against 
him. 

While  Millie  thought  he  was  admiring  the  light 
floating  clouds,  he  questioned  this  god  of  Noel 
Crayne  and  Helen  Dyke ;  challenging  him,  indeed,  to 
come  out  in  the  open  and  make  himself  known. 

"I  will  not  fawn  upon  you,"  said  Peter's  soul,  "and 
coax  you  to  perform  a  duty  that  is  yours  to  do — if 
you  be  as  great  and  loving  as  earth  supposes.  But  I 
demand  of  you  what  is  just,  what  is  right  and  rea- 


246  Peter  Bosten 

sonable.  Believers  would  call  this  sacrilege,  blas- 
phemy, and  threaten  me  with  fire  from  heaven  for 
such  recklessness:  but  I  am  not  afraid:  my  intelli- 
gence forbids  such  fear.  If  you  really  exist,  god  of 
these  peculiar  people,  why  do  you  not  make  yourself 
known  to  me?  Am  I  not  as  honest  at  heart  as  Helen 
Dyke?  Am  I  not  more  honest  than  men  like  Thomas 
and  Arthur  Jacobs?" 

Peter  waited  for  an  answer,  but  it  did  not  come; 
and  gradually  he  felt  his  heart  harden  against  what 
he  termed  "illusions."  Always  he  had  held  them  in 
mental  contempt,  but  now  he  hated  them  with  a  per- 
sonal heart-hatred. 

"They  have  come  between  me  and  my  happiness 
like  a  mountain  of  granite,"  he  murmured — convers- 
ing on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  with  Millie  Jacobs  the 
while.  "They  have  made  an  egotist  of  the  girl  I  love. 
I  innocently  hoped  college  life  would  have  made  a 
change  in  her  views;  but  instead  of  disillusioning 
her,  knowledge  has  strengthened  her  irrationalism. 
This  is  not  surprising,  I  suppose.  I  have  not  reck- 
oned with  the  full  power  of  this  'faith'  of  theirs, 
that's  all.  It  has  encompassed  the  reason  of  deeper 
thinkers  than  Helen.  There  is  Freely,  for  instance. 
He  has  a  brain,  that  man;  and  yet  he  can  not  con- 
vince my  intellect  that  his  faith  is  logical.  That 
argument  of  his  about  the  'desire  to  do  good'  does 


A  Gulf  Between  247 

not  hold,  after  all.  Have  not  /  a  desire  to  do  the 
right?  Yet  I  have  no  faith  in  their  god,  nor  have  I 
entered  'the  fold'  as  they  call  it.  My  desire  is  just 
as  strong  as  theirs,  too,  in  spite  of  their  assumptions. 

"Why,  they  are  egotists,  all  of  them ;  the  greatest 
egotists  in  the  world.  Their  form  of  religion  may 
be  higher,  according  to  Christian  standards,  than  any 
other ;  but  since  religion  is  all  a  delusion,  the  higher 
the  form  the  stronger  the  delusion.  That's  it!" 

The  thought  was  convincing  to  the  Kansan's  mind, 
and  he  knew  that  its  advent  marked  the  disappear- 
ance of  his  sympathy  for  Noel's  church. 

"Their  doctrines  have  defeated  my  love,"  he  mused. 
"Why  should  I  deceive  myself  into  thinking  them,  to 
any  extent,  desirable?  My  sentiment  for  these  sin- 
cere but  deluded  Christians  has  been  leading  Reason 
astray.  Let  me  get  back  to  the  Logical — I'm  done 
with  this  emotional  business!" 

Consistent  with  his  new  viewpoint,  which  was, 
perhaps,  the  old  one  renewed,  Peter  made  an  excuse 
to  go  back  to  Ladner  the  following  day.  This  time 
he  bade  Helen  Dyke  farewell,  but  his  eyes  communi- 
cated no  message  to  hers. 

Began  a  period  in  the  Kansan's  life  that  was  hard 
to  endure.  He  had  no  longer  even  a  desire  to  be 
diverted.  Invitations  from  the  Jacobses  were  sys- 
tematically refused.  After  work  he  sat  in  his  room, 


248  Peter  Bosten 

brooding,  or  walked  along  quiet  streets  in  quest  of 
forgetfulness. 

The  routine  of  his  daily  occupation  was  more  wel- 
come than  it  had  ever  been,  for  the  reason  that  he 
had  no  immediate  ambition.  Even  the  desire  to 
write,  for  the  sake  of  writing,  had  forsaken  him.  He 
"doped  out,"  in  "shop"  parlance,  paragraphs  and 
essays  on  various  local  or  general  subjects;  but  his 
typewriter  carried  him  along  mechanically,  and  he 
paid  more  attention  to  style  than  substance. 

"You're  getting  down  to  something  substantial 
now,"  observed  the  editor  and  proprietor  one  day. 
"Soon  you'll  be  able  to  dress  up  Nothing  to  look  like 
something.  That's  the  real  mission  of  a  newspaper- 
man." 

Cynicism  of  this  nature  added  a  little  spice  to  the 
Kansan's  life,  and  the  use  of  carefully  selected  pro- 
fanity began  to  appeal  to  him.  Swearing  was,  in 
the  last  analysis,  an  art.  One  must  guard  against 
excess,  however;  otherwise  the  desired  result  could 
not  be  attained.  Just  as  the  overstatement  of  an 
argument  dulled  its  fine  points,  so  did  the  too  en- 
thusiastic utterance  of  permissible  curses  render 
them  less  effective. 

Peter  made  a  discovery,  some  weeks  after  the  re- 
union, that  tended  to  strengthen  his  conviction  that 


A  Gulf  Between  249 

religion,  at  its  best,  was  but  self-deception.  He  was 
covering  a  suicide  case  in  the  slums  of  Ladner  when 
he  learned  that  the  victim  had  taken  his  life  because 
of  poverty.  This  was  no  novelty  in  modern  city  life, 
and  the  newspaperman  would  probably  have  passed 
it  by  as  a  commonplace  event,  had  not  a  friend  of 
the  deceased  indiscreetly  mentioned  an  incident  lead- 
ing up  to  the  suicide :  namely,  a  brutal  effort  to  col- 
lect rent :  which  involved  none  other  than  Thomas  T. 
Jacobs. 

Millie's  father,  it  developed,  was  the  owner  of  a 
series  of  tenements,  and  recognized  to  be  as  severe 
a  taskmaster  among  the  poor  as  any  rich  man  in 
town. 

So  this  was  the  kind  of  men  who  championed  the 
cause  of  an  imaginary  god;  who  consigned  "unbe- 
lievers" to  a  "lesser  glory"  in  the  next  world  than 
themselves ;  who  paid  into  the  church  treasury  money 
extorted  from  the  poor,  and  soothed  their  conscience 
in  prayer  and  "worship"? 

"Ay,"  he  concluded,  "and  their  belief  is  respon- 
sible, to  a  great  extent,  for  their  hypocrisy.  With- 
out it  they  would  be  driven  to  their  reason  and  their 
conscience,  elements  of  their  being  that  illusory  faith 
destroys.  Without  the  salve  of  prayer  they  might 
feel  a  humanitarian  smart  occasionally. 

"If  their  church  is  not  responsible  for  their  actions. 


250  Peter  Bosten 

why  does  it  tolerate  them?  Why  does  it  take  their 
tainted  money? 

"If  I  had  been  Arthur  Jacobs, — self -deceived,  dis- 
honest, insincere, — Helen  Dyke  would  have  believed 
in  me  because  of  my  professed  faith;  but  being  too 
honest  for  self-deception,  I  am  discarded.  Well,  so 
be  it.  I  am  satisfied." 

As  the  months  passed,  Peter  began  to  take  an  in- 
terest in  literature  again.  He  put  old  associations 
out  of  mind,  even  dropping  his  correspondence  with 
Noel;  and  chose  to  live  independently  of  what  he 
called  "sentiment." 

"As  Ibsen  would  say,"  he  mused,  "I  shall  be  com- 
plete within  my  own  life :  I  shall  be  Myself." 

The  routine  of  the  Globe  office  began  to  pall  on 
him,  however,  now  that  the  East  ceased  to  divert 
him;  and  a  longing  for  the  plains,  the  atmosphere 
and  sunshine  of  the  Golden  West,  rose  up  in  his  heart. 

One  late-autumn  morning  he  approached  the 
"chief"  unceremoniously  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good-by,"  he  said,  "I'm  off." 

"You're  off?  What's  the  matter  with  you — are 
you  crazy?  Do  you  mean  you're  off  your  dot?" 

"Maybe  that's  it,"  he  replied,  without  a  smile. 
"Anyway,  I'm  sick  of  this  game.  Pacing  the  pave- 
ment and  writing  silly  articles  about  senseless  sub- 
jects has  ceased  to  appeal  to  me.  The  West  is  call- 


A  Gulf  Between  251 

ing,  and  I  must  go  back.    Guess  I'll  free  lance  it." 
The  editor  tried  in  vain  to  suppress  profanity. 
"I  hope  you  starve  to  death,"  he  declared,  along 

with  an  unprintable  list  of  nouns  and  adjectives. 
"Most  likely  I  shall,"  said  the  Kansan;  "but  I'd 

just  as  lief  do  that  as  dry  rot.    So  long,  chief." 


252  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  XV 

THE  FREE  LANCE 

THE  events  of  five  years  of  the  Kansan's  life,  a 
life  peculiarly  susceptible  to  psychologic  changes, 
must  now  be  crowded  into  small  space.  An  existence 
of  half  a  decade  might  not  mean  much  to  certain 
temperaments;  but  Peter's  was  an  extraordinarily 
restless  one.  His  ambition  was  great,  and  his  powers 
of  physical  endurance  were  considerably  below  the 
average.  The  editor  at  Ladner  had  often  told  him 
that  he  "carried  too  much  current"  and  would  "blow 
out  a  fuse  some  day"  if  he  did  not  restrain  his  en- 
ergies. 

In  this  recitation  of  five  years'  happenings,  no 
adequate  conception  of  the  mental  experiences  can 
be  given.  These  are  more  truly  "the  experiences  of 
life"  than  physical  goings  and  comings.  Just  as  the 
mind  can  travel  a  billion  times  faster  than  the  body, 
so  do  mental  occurrences  mean  infinitely  more  than 
physical.  Nor  are  they  to  be  described  in  terms  of 
years,  for  they  have  no  time  limitations. 

There  are  minds  that  journey  a  greater  distance 
in  one  week  than  others  do  in  a  year.  A  whole  life- 
time of  the  usual  psychological  experiences  may,  for 
some  intellects,  be  undergone  in  a  very  few  years.  .  . . 


The  Free  Lance  253 

After  leaving  Ladner  the  Kansan,  with  a  hundred 
dollars  in  his  pocket,  set  out  for  the  West.  He  had 
no  notion  of  stopping  off  at  Petit  City,  nor  of  visiting 
his  uncle  on  the  Kansas  farm.  Old  friends  and 
scenes  would  tend  to  rouse  memories  and  reflections 
that  he  had  succeeded,  to  some  extent,  in  quelling. 
Peter's  one  desire  now  was  to  do  something  worth 
while  as  a  free-lance  writer,  and  anything  that 
threatened  to  interfere  with  this  ambition  must  be 
resisted. 

At  Chicago  he  took  a  Denver  train  that  would  pass 
through  Petit  City,  Missouri,  about  midnight.  Thus 
the  temptation  to  disembark  was  minimized. 

There  was  a  long  daze  of  dreams  and  passing 
things:  cities,  towns,  plains,  waters  and  forests: 
after  which  he  found  himself  east  of  Denver  in  a 
prolific  grain  section  of  Colorado.  One  of  the  little 
towns,  a  place  named  Nestleton,  appealed  to  him 
because  of  its  name  and  the  fact  that  it  was  situated 
some  distance  from  the  railroad  station,  so  he  got 
off  the  train  there,  with  his  baggage,  which  included 
a  typewriter,  and  looked  around.  A  breeze  from  the 
mountains,  shining  to  westward,  filled  his  lungs ;  and 
the  hard-headed  Peter  had  a  foolish  impulse  to  drop 
a  tear  or  two  on  the  station  platform.  It  was  a 
peculiar  sensation,  composed  in  equal  parts  of  hap- 
piness and  sadness. 


254  Peter  Bosten 

"I'll  get  back  my  old  vim  in  this  sweet  air/'  he 
murmured,  as  he  walked  toward  the  village,  his  bag- 
gage having  been  sent  on  to  the  hotel. 

His  plans  were  all  laid.  Next  day  he  would  find 
himself  a  room  in  some  quiet  home,  and  settle  down 
to  his  writing.  With  the  ninety  dollars  he  would 
have  left,  after  paying  his  hotel  bill,  he  could  live  for 
several  months,  by  economizing;  and  if  his  "stuff" 
did  not  sell,  at  first,  there  was  always  work  to  be 
found  on  the  farms  round  about. 

He  succeeded  in  engaging  a  room  for  two  dollars 
a  week,  and  his  landlady,  an  ignorant,  superstitious, 
good-hearted  soul,  told  him  he  could  get  meals  at  the 
only  restaurant  in  town,  <a  Chinese  lunch  room,  "right 
cheap." 

The  first  week  his  living  expenses  were  as  fol- 
lows: room  rent,  $2.00;  meals  $1.75;  laundry  0.25; 
candy  0.15 ;  total,  $4.15.  At  this  rate,  Peter  figured, 
he  could  exist  for  21  weeks,  without  selling  anything. 
But  he  must  make  an  allowance  for  stamps  of  at 
least  $1.00  per  week;  which,  at  the  present  rate, 
would  limit  his  existence  as  a  free  lance  to  17  weeks, 
two  more  of  which  would  probably  disappear  in 
incidental  expense — hair  cuts,  et  cetera. 

Clearly,  he  must  not  eat  so  much.  The  candy,  a 
craving  for  which  he  had  always  possessed  and 
which  seemed  to  satisfy  him  where  others  wanted  to- 


The  Free  Lance  255 

bacco,  must  go ;  and  he  must  never,  on  any  occasion 
(except  the  selling  of  a  manuscript) ,  eat  more  than 
twenty  cents*  worth  per  day.  Also,  he  must  not  be 
so  particular  in  the  matter  of  laundry. 

He  figured  away  until  he  had  hit  upon  a  basis  of 
daily  expenditure  that  would  prolong  his  free-lanc- 
ing existence  to  at  least  eighteen  weeks,  calamities 
barred;  allowing  for  postage  of  fifteen  cents  a  day. 

Now,  Peter  was  not  a  novice  in  the  "writing  busi- 
ness," and  did  not  cherish  false  hopes.  He  had  s4|n 
too  many  clever  men  starving  in  New  York  as 
"hacks,"  to  expect  fame  and  fortune  in  a  few  months. 
If  he  could  only  manage  to  keep  body  and  soul  to- 
gether for  a  year,  by  writing  stories  and  articles 
that  appealed  to  himself,  he  would  be  satisfied.  He 
knew  he  did  not  "turn  out"  the  sort  of  "stuff"  that 
appealed  to  the  "ninety  per  cent" — that  class  of  the 
public  which  demanded  crude  sensation — >and  that  it 
would  be  much  harder  for  him  to  make  money  as  a 
free  lance  than  it  was  for  mere  "pot  boilers"  who 
wrote  "thrillers"  "by  the  yard."  Peter  realized  that 
had  he  retained  his  position  in  Ladner  he  could  have 
sold  perhaps  more  stories  and  articles  "on  the  side," 
had  he  applied  himself  and  consented  to  "manu- 
facture" the  kind  of  sentiment  most  in  demand,  than 
he  would  do  here  in  Nestleton,  where  all  his  time 
went  into  the  work.  But  he  also  realized  that  in  the 


256  Peter  Bosten 

East  his  style  would  never  have  developed  any  indi- 
viduality, nor  would  his  mind  ever  have  been  able  to 
rise  to  the  heights  it  might  reach  here  in  the  moun- 
tain air,  with  no  routine  and  no  sordid  environment 
to  weary  it. 

Since  first  conceiving  the  desire  to  be  a  "writer" ; 
that  is,  to  be  able  to  express  the  thoughts  within  his 
brain  that  clamored  for  expression;  he  had  passed 
through  various  stages  of  disillusionment  regarding 
the  literary  profession.  At  first  he  had  thought 
newspapermen  happy  mortals,  beings  to  be  admired 
and  imitated  if  possible.  But  association  with  them 
had  convinced  him  that  they  wrote  not  their  own 
thoughts  as  a  rule,  but  the  thoughts  of  their  news- 
paper, their  employer.  The  longer  they  remained 
with  a  journal,  the  less  individualistic  became  their 
writings.  The  daily  grind  of  cut-and-dried  work 
devolving  upon  them  killed  not  only  their  originality 
but  their  ambition,  in  the  end.  Most  of  them  were 
cynical  upon  the  subject  of  literature.  "There  ain't 
no  such  animal,"  a  Park  Row  "cub"  had  remarked 
to  him  one  day.  "At  least  he  doesn't  thrive  in  Amer- 
ica. The  fellows  who  succeed  in  the  game  these  days 
are  those  who  measure  their  stuff  by  the  column,  at 
so  much  per ;  not  by  the  eye  of  intellectual  scrutiny. 
Pick  the  best  sellers  to  pieces  and  you  find  a  mess  of 


The  Free  Lance  257 

sticky  sentiment  with  a  lolly-pop  stuck  in  the  mid- 
dle." 

Away  from  the  "money-seekers"  and  the  incon- 
sistent cynics,  who  lacked  the  initiative  to  forsake 
what  they  claimed  to  despise,  Peter  hoped  to  find 
thoughts  within  himself,  untwisted  by  exterior  in- 
fluences, that  would  be  worthy  of  expression.  Here 
in  Nestleton,  if  anywhere  in  the  world,  Nature  would 
lend  her  inspiration.  The  ever-brilliant  sunshine, 
the  singing  mountain  breeze,  the  peace  and  mystery 
of  early  morning  and  moonlit  night — surely  these 
were  fitter  companions  to  a  reflective  mind,  than  the 
artificial  surroundings  of  a  modern  city. 

His  first  fortnight's  work  on  the  typewriter  con- 
vinced the  Kansan  that  he  must  have  more  speed. 
So  he  wrote  to  a  business  college  in  Denver  for  a 
copy  of  their  "touch  method"  book  of  instruction; 
and  when  it  arrived,  set  to  work  to  learn  the  art  of 
typewriting  without  looking  at  the  keys.  There 
were  twenty  lessons  in  the  book,  upon  which  the  stu- 
dent was  supposed  to  spend  twenty  days  at  least; 
and  success  could  only  be  attained  by  strictest  ad- 
herence to  the  rule  forbidding  the  typist  to  even 
glance  at  the  keyboard.  While  learning  the  position 
of  the  keys,  one  must  keep  one's  eyes  on  a  chart. 
This  rule,  of  course,  made  it  impossible  for  Peter  to 
typewrite  any  of  his  writings  for  a  period  of  twenty 


258  Peter  Bosten 

days;  but,  even  so,  he  did  not  allow  his  six  hours' 
daily  practice  of  the  touch  method  to  interfere  with 
his  literary  labors.  It  was  his  custom  to  arise  at 
six  o'clock  every  morning,  Sunday  included,  take  a 
brisk  half-hour's  walk,  eat  his  five-cent  breakfast, 
and  be  back  to  work  by  seven. 

Ordinarily  he  worked  from  seven  o'clock  until 
twelve,  and  from  one  until  five.  Between  five  and 
six  he  exercised  in  the  open;  devoted  half  an  hour 
to  supper;  and  read  or  studied  from  six-thirty  until 
ten,  sometimes  taking  half  an  hour  off  to  write  a 
poem,  or  the  beginning  of  one. 

'But  now  that  touch-typewriting  was  to  be  learned, 
he  must  put  in  more  time,  and  temporarily  give  up 
his  evening  study.  So  he  rose  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
mornings,  stealing  an  hour  from  sleep,  and  divided 
his  time  so  that  really  only  two  hours  out  of  the 
regular  day  were  sacrificed  to  the  machine. 

At  the  end  of  twenty  days  he  had  not  only  mas- 
tered the  touch  method  but  accumulated  a  heap  of 
articles  and  stories  written  with  pencil  in  scribblers. 
He  had  brought  a  pile  of  bond  paper  from  Ladner, 
but  it  was  fast  disappearing ;  and  he  dreaded  the  day 
when  he  should  have  to  invest  in  more. 

The  typing  of  the  accumulated  writings  increased 
his  speed  on  the  machine.  By  the  time  they  were 
finished  he  had  completely  overcome  his  desire  to 


The  Free  Lance  259 

look  for  either  letter  or  figure  on  the  keyboard,  and 
could  do  much  faster  work  than  he  had  ever  done  by 
"sight." 

His  experience  with  the  touch-typewriting  book 
of  instruction  made  Peter  feel  that  he  possessed 
latent  powers  capable  of  strong  and  varied  develop- 
ment. How  many  of  us,  he  thought,  could  accom- 
plish really  great  things  if  we  only  tried  hard 
enough? 

Instead  of  slaking  his  thirst  to  succeed  as  a 
writer,  each  day's  toil  seemed  to  increase  it.  Every 
finished  story  and  article  inspired  him  to  write  some- 
thing stronger.  At  first  he  feared  this  appetite  for 
labor  was  artificial  and  would  wear  off;  but  as  the 
weeks  passed  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  health- 
ful life  and  exercise  and  the  absence  of  uncongenial 
surroundings,  were  responsible  for  his  new  energy, 
and  that  it  would  last. 

When  a  given  writing  was  finished  he  invariably 
felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure. 

"You  may  come  back,  old  man,"  he  would  say,  ad- 
dressing his  "creations"  as  though  they  were  ani- 
mate, "but  I  will  send  you  out  again  and  again ;  be- 
cause you  represent  a  certain  limited  phase  of  my 
mental  and  physical  existence,  and  you  are  therefore, 
in  some  degree,  worth  while.  Yet  were  not  "as- 
signed" to  me  by  a  city  editor;  your  spirit  was  not 


260  Peter  Bosten 

dictated  by  a  business  or  political  system.  You  are 
my  own  honest  views,  in  plain  language,  and  I  con- 
gratulate you,  old  chap,  on  your  existence.  Nothing 
but  fire  can  destroy  you.  When  I  am  dead  you  may 
lie  unpublished;  but  you  will  exist.  For  you  have 
been  created,  and  in  this  universe  there  is  nothing 
ultimately  destructible.  Even  though  you  are  burned 
up,  you  will  still  exist,  in  spirit  form ;  for  a  mind  has 
shaped  you  and  released  you  in  the  cosmos,  whence 
you  can  not  escape." 

Peter  formed  the  habit  of  speaking  to  himself: 
talking  to  his  soul,  he  called  it.  On  his  long  walks 
he  would  start  an  argument  between  two  given 
mental  faculties  and,  standing  aside,  as  though  he 
were  a  number  of  personalities,  watch  the  result. 

His  work,  at  this  period,  seemed  to  fill  his  life 
entirely.  Noel,  Helen  and  others  transiently  occu- 
pied his  mind,  of  course;  but  they  were  invariably 
forced  out,  to  make  room  for  an  Idea  of  some  sort, 
which  the  writer  deemed  worthy  of  elaboration. 

His  sentimental  nature  was  fed  with  imaginary 
adventures.  Were  he  conscious  of  a  longing  for  the 
companionship  of  woman,  as  poor  mortal  man  is 
prone  to  be  at  times,  he  created  a  dream-creature  to 
divert  him.  His  youthful  yearning  for  real  romance 
was  appeased  in  the  creation  of  the  unreal.  Such  is 
the  nature  of  a  genuine,  dyed-in-the-wool  " writer." 


The  Free  Lance  261 

As  more  than  one  novelist  has  said,  his  real  existence 
lies  in  his  brain-creations ;  the  material  world  outside 
is  to  him  a  thing  illusory.  This  sounds  like  fiction  and 
pretty  speeches,  but  it  is  a  commonplace  truth. 
Doubtless  it  is  not  conceivable  to  some  minds — and 
possibly  they  are  the  better  off ! 

The  Kansan  suffered  the  pangs  of  all  whole- 
hearted free  lances,  during  his  winter  in  Nestleton. 
Back  came  the  manuscripts  as  methodically  as  they 
went  out. 

It  seemed  incredible  to  him,  in  spite  of  his  East- 
ern experience  in  journalism,  that  not  one  of  a  hun- 
dred stories  and  articles  should  be  accepted.  He  had 
prepared  himself  for  just  this  contingency;  but  there 
is  no  genuine  preparedness  for  disaster  where  hope 
lingers.  Expectation  and  realization  are  two  dif- 
ferent things. 

Peter  knew  that  these  writings  were  by  far  the 
best  he  had  ever  done.  Many  an  editorial  of  his  had 
the  Ladner  Evening  Globe  printed,  which  was  ama- 
teurish compared  with  these  endeavors. 

"But  they  said  what  the  editor  wanted  said,"  he 
reflected,  in  disgust.  "I  was  only  paid  as  a  carpen- 
ter is  paid :  for  fitting  the  material  together.  Bah ! 
these  magazines  don't  want  originality.  Least  of 
all  do  they  want  truth.  Only  one  thing  appeals  to 
them :  Sensation.  Let  a  story  be  crude,  unoriginal, 


262  Peter  Bosten 

demoralizing — anything :  so  long  as  it  is  sensational. 
These  editors  might  just  as  well  sit  beside  a  vat  of 
morphia,  with  a  syringe  in  their  fingers,  and  give 
each  subscriber  an  injection  as  he  comes  along. 
Thrills  are  what  he  wants;  unintellectual,  fleshly 
thrills ;  and  that  would  give  them  to  him." 

Having  crowded  two  or  three  years'  ordinary 
brain-work  into  three  months,  and  accomplished 
nothing  tangible  (except  the  innumerable  packages 
of  manuscript),  Peter  suffered  a  reaction  against 
what  he  called  "modern  journalistic  conventions." 
The  policy  of  the  magazines  disgusted  him.  They 
were  a  weight  on  the  back  of  intellectual  progress. 
They  needed  a  scourging,  and — why  did  they  not 
get  it? 

"Because,"  he  mused,  "a  lot  of  starvelings  like  my- 
self depend  on  them  for  daily  bread.  But  I  don't. 
I'll  show  them  I  don't!" 

So  in  place  of  the  old  inspiration,  now  lying  dead 
beneath  a  heap  of  long,  fat  envelopes,  there  came  to 
the  Kansan  a  new  one.  He  would  write  only  mate- 
rial that  tended  toward  reform.  This,  after  all,  was 
a  thinker's  mission;  the  only  work  worthy  of  one 
who  desired  to  be  among  the  supermen. 

As  this  conviction  settled  upon  him  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  subtle  gratification  that  his  sentimental, 
casual  efforts  had  failed. 


The  Free  Lance  263 

"I  might  have  been  trapped  into  devoting  my  en- 
ergies to  this  stuff,"  he  soliloquized,  walking  in  the 
face  of  a  setting  sun.  "The  gold  might  have  tempted 
me,  as  it  has  the  rest.  Why,  when  I  come  to  think 
of  it,  there  is  nothing  really  vital  in  what  I  have 
written  so  far.  It  contains  philosophy,  true  enough, 
but  it  lacks  direction.  There  is  so  much  to  accom- 
plish in  this  muddled  world  that  it's  idle  to  spend 
our  time  merely  saying  smart — even  thoughtful — 
things.  I  must  put  life  into  my  work.  I  must  attack 
what  is  ignoble ;  show  myself  unafraid  of  the  powers 
that  be;  smash  their  miserable  idols,  and  do  things 
worth  while.  I  have  seen  enough  insincerity  and 
hypocrisy  in  the  world  to  make  a  rebel  of  almost 
anyone.  I  shall  write  about  that  of  which  I  am  in- 
formed, and  not  mince  matters.  First  of  all  I  shall 
aim  a  few  articles  and  stories  at  the  sensation-loving 
public.  Maybe  their  sheer  boldness  will  strike  those 
poor  victims,  the  editors.  By  Jove, — I  believe  that's 
an  inspiration !" 

With  all  his  heart  then,  undiscouraged  and  unad- 
vised by  the  pile  of  old  manuscripts  under  his  writ- 
ing table,  the  Kansan  set  to  work  as  a  literary  re- 
former. He  could  scarcely  get  his  thoughts  down 
fast  enough,  in  spite  of  his  growing  speed  on  the 
machine.  Some  of  them  came  so  flaming  hot  from 
his  brain,  and  contained  sentiments  so  fearlessly 


264  Peter  Bosten 

"radical,"  it  is  a  wonder,  perhaps,  that  they  did  not 
burn  up  the  paper  upon  which  they  took  form. 

For  days  and  days  the  writer  ground  out  this 
class  of  stuff.  So  enthusiastic  was  he  in  its  creation 
that  he  grudged  the  time  spent  in  sleep.  However, 
knowing  the  ways  of  his  stomach  and  nervous  sys- 
tem, he  did  not  attempt  to  do  with  less  than  eight 
hours'  rest  each  night. 

Although  his  store  of  wealth  was  dwindling  alarm- 
ingly, he  bought  five  dollars  worth  of  stamps  in  one 
reckless  week  and  deluged  the  mails  with  packages 
containing  castigations  of  the  slush-seeking  public 
and  their  dupes  the  publishers. 

But  ere  long,  these,  like  the  harmless  stories  and 
articles  previously  submitted,  began  coming  back. 
How  Peter  longed  for  sight  of  but  one  short  thin 
envelope !  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  been  writing 
like  mad  for  over  four  months  and  had  not  yet  re- 
ceived a  check? 

At  last,  when  his  disgust  knew  no  bounds  and  he 
was  contemplating  an  excursion  among  the  farms 
surrounding  Nestleton,  the  thin  letter  came.  It  con- 
tained the  following  message  from  an  editor,  whose 
signature  was  not  stereotyped  on  a  rejection  slip, 
but  actually  written  in  ink  at  the  bottom  of  the  letter. 

"Dear  Sir:"  he  read,  striving  to  control  the  twitch- 
ing nerves  of  his  fingers:  "Your  article  entitled 


The  Free  Lance  265 

'Wheels  that  move  backward*  has  considerable  merit, 
but  we  can  not  accept  it  unless  you  grant  us  the 
privilege  of  revision.  I  appreciate  your  desire  to 
aid  in  making  j  ournalism  a  better  vehicle  for  truth ; 
but  must  say  that,  with  all  respect  to  your  views,  I 
can  not  see  where  mere  words  have  any  appreciable 
significance  in  actual  reform.  What  the  people  are 
and  what  they  want  is  determined  by  conditions  too 
potent  to  be  influenced  materially  by  speech.  The 
habits  of  society  have  been  formed  in  the  intricate 
and  laborious  processes  of  life ;  and  we  can  not  hope 
to  change  them  with  a  breath. 

"However,  as  there  is  a  certain  sparkle  to  your 
article,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  it  for  our  May  issue, 
provided  our  rate  of  one  cent  a  word  for  such  mate- 
rial is  satisfactory  to  you,  and  we  are  granted  the 
privilege  of  revising  it  somewhat." 

By  looking  up  his  notebook  of  "manuscripts  dis- 
patched," Peter  ascertained  that  the  article  in  ques- 
tion was  about  eighteen  hundred  words  in  length, 
and  would  therefore  bring  him  eighteen  dollars.  As- 
suming that  he  would  be  paid  upon  acceptance  he 
sent  the  editor  a  telegram  (to  save  time)  granting 
him  the  rights  desired,  and  in  less  than  a  week  re- 
ceived another  letter  stating  that  the  article  had  been 
reduced  to  fourteen  hundred  words  and  would  be 
paid  for  upon  publication. 


266  Peter  Bosten 

It  was  now  the  end  of  March,  and  the  last  of 
Peter's  money  had  disappeared.  He  had,  moreover, 
persuaded  his  landlady  to  wait  a  week  on  the  room 
rent;  and  was  out  of  both  stamps  and  writing  paper. 
His  situation  looked  anything  but  promising,  in  fact. 

"I  guess  there's  something  the  matter  with  my 
brain,"  he  said  to  himself,  a  day  of  two  after  receiv- 
ing the  reply  to  his  impetuous  telegram,  as  he  sat  on 
the  edge  of  his  cot  nursing  an  aching  head.  "I'm 
such  a  hopeless  dreamer  I'll  never  be  able  to  navi- 
gate in  this  world  of  money  grubbing,  stomach  feed- 
ing and  soul  crushing." 

He  walked  several  miles  out  into  the  country, 
pondering  over  his  predicament,  wondering  what  he 
had  better  do.  Would  he  be  able  to  stand  the  physical 
strain  of  plowing? 

While  musing  that  it  was  about  time  good  fortune 
favored  him  a  little,  he  was  overtaken  by  a  farmer 
whom  he  impulsively  asked  for  a  job. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  he  got  it.  However,  a 
week's  labor  almost  laid  him  up.  Certainly  it  "laid 
up"  his  inclination  for  that  sort  of  toil;  and  was, 
perhaps,  the  strongest  factor  in  sending  him  city- 
ward once  more. 

Denver  it  was  at  first;  later,  Butte,  Portland', 
Seattle,  and  Vancouver. 

There  came  a  long  period  when  the  Kansan  had 


The  Free  Lance  267 

no  inclination  to  write.  Always  he  picked  up  some 
hobby  as  a  substitute ;  once  it  was  a  cornet,  another 
time  a  mania  for  the  study  of  anatomy ;  and  so  on. 
Of  course,  he  had  periodical  reactions  toward  the 
Muse.  At  one  time  he  wrote  a  whole  volume  of 
verse  about  a  girl  he  had  seen  in  a  field,  only  for  an 
instant;  and  on  two  other  occasions  he  built  long 
stories  around  an  old  man  and  a  tired-looking 
mother,  respectively.  But  he  did  not  pursue  the  free- 
lance "game"  systematically.  When  he  chanced  to 
sell  a  story  or  article  he  spent  the  money  in  travel  or 
gave  most  of  it  away  to  creatures  less  fortunate  than 
himself. 

He  worked  for  six  different  newspapers,  off  and 
on  (mostly  "off"),  during  four  years;  in  which  time 
he  executed  a  lot  of  "side"  writings,  some  of  which 
he  never  submitted — others  were  lost  in  the  mails. 
He  enjoyed  the  sensation  of  seeing  one  of  his  own 
plots  appear  in  a  certain  Eastern  magazine,  some 
months  after  the  manuscript  had  been  rejected. 
There  was  no  mistaking  its  identity. 

"The  poor  hacks,"  he  laughed ;  "they've  even  got  to 
steal  for  a  living.  Well,  I'm  better  off  than  they  are, 
at  that.  Good  luck  to  you,  boys !  May  the  Muse  re- 
ward you. . . .  However,  I  hold  you  no  ill  feeling.  We 
are  all  dupes  together.  Egotists  of  the  first  water.  We 
think  our  little  thoughts  and  demand  their  publica- 


268  Peter  Bosten 

tion,  as  though  they  were  worth  while.  Why,  noth-r 
ing  is  really  worth  while  in  this  world.  Everything 
is  earthly,  sordid.  I'll  be  glad  when  it's  all  over." 

This  soliloquy,  delivered  to  the  darkening  waters 
as  he  stood  on  the  docks  in  Portland,  characterized 
Peter's  state  of  mind  during  an  indefinite  period. 

He  still  thought  and  wrote  along  the  lines  of  re- 
form, voicing  opinions  that  were  called  "Socialistic" 
and  "ultra-radical" ;  but  he  seemed  to  do  so  without 
much  heart.  The  words  of  the  sophisticated  Eastern 
editor  who  had  accepted  his  first  article  of  a  revo- 
lutionary nature,  kept  recurring  to  his  mind :  "What 
the  people  are  and  what  they  want  is  determined  by 
conditions  too  potent  to  be  influenced  materially  by 
speech."  The  world  was  in  a  rut.  It  needed  some- 
thing more  than  human  reformers  could  confer  upon 
it. 

The  Kansan  became  increasingly  cynical  in  his 
habits  of  thought.  The  articles  he  condescended  at 
times  to  write,  savored  more  and  more  of  what  was 
called  "radicalism."  He  despised  social  conventions, 
human  pretenses,  and  did  not  attempt  to  disguise 
the  fact.  He  hated  religion,  now,  where  formerly 
he  had  merely  held  it  in  contempt. 

The  theater  was  his  chief  pastime.  The  play- 
wrights, it  seemed  to  him,  had  greater  breadth  of 


The  Free  Lance  269 

vision  than  the  majority  of  self-appointed  leaders  of 
thought. 

It  was  the  last  week  of  his  sojourn  in  Seattle,  while 
attending  the  theater,  that  he  had  an  experience 
worthy  of  mention. 

He  had  been  attracted  there  by  an  announcement 
that  "The  Prince  of  Pilsen"  had  been  revived,  with 
the  original  company ;  and  attended  in  hope  of  seeing 
Adele  Cressy.  Not  that  he  had  any  particular  de- 
sire to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  her,  or  anyone 
else,  for  that  matter;  but  he  found  it  diverting  to 
yield  to  his  curiosity. 

Not  being  in  the  "orchestra"  he  did  not  have  a 
program  and  consequently  was  unable  to  anticipate 
the  players.  However,  as  they  came  on  the  stage 
Peter  recognized  most  of  them  as  members  of  the 
cast  that  had  entertained  him  in  Ladner,  four  years 
previously.  Nor  was  Miss  Cressy  missing. 

"Well,  well,"  he  muttered,  leaning  over  the  gal- 
lery railing,  "so  it's  the  same  old  Adele !  She  doesn't 
seem  to  have  changed  a  bit." 

However,  an  interview  with  her  later  in  the  night, 
changed  his  opinion.  She  had  learned  to  drink, 
among  other  things ;  and  had  lost  much  of  her  former 
sincerity  of  look  and  speech. 

The  change  in  her  saddened  the  Kansan,  in  spite 
of  his  cynicism.  He  tried  to  make  himself  believe 


270  Peter  Bosten 

that  this  natural  phenomenon  of  life  meant  nothing 
to  him ;  but  he  scarcely  succeeded. 

As  they  sat  together  at  a  little  table  in  one  of  the 
fashionable  cabarets,  he  yielded  to  the  whisperings 
of  something  within  him,  and  drew  her  into  intimate 
conversation.  She  refused,  at  first,  to  go  below  the 
surface  of  old  memories ;  but  gradually  he  made  his 
way  into  her  heart,  and  discovered,  to  his  great  sur- 
prise, that  she  had  really  loved  Noel  Crayne  after 
all;  sacrificing  many  of  her  ideals  only  upon  being 
convinced  that  she  must  sacrifice  him. 

Peter  saw  tears  of  sorrow  and  regret  flow  from 
stenciled  eyes,  beneath  the  gaudy  glow  of  a  cafe 
lamp,  and  heard  amid  the  din  of  frivolity  the  peni- 
tent voice  of  a  woman  whose  life  had  been  as  a 
sounding  brass  and  a  tinkling  cymbal, — contrary 
too,  to  the  truest  wishes  of  her  innermost  being. 

"0  fools,"  he  murmured,  gazing  about  him  pen- 
sively, "do  you  really  care  for  this  glare  and  jangle, 
or  are  you  deceiving  yourselves,  as  this  girl  here  is 
deceiving  herself,  as  all  of  us  are  deceiving  our- 
selves?" 

She  raised  her  glass,  the  diamonds  still  shining  in 
her  eyes. 

"To  our  old  loves,"  she  said,  "however  they  have 
gone." 


The  Free  Lance  271 

But  Peter  seemed  incapable  of  raising  the  liquid 
to  his  lips. 

"Adele,"  he  returned,  "I  beg  leave  to  amend  your 
toast  a  little.  Let's  drink  to  the  loves  of  others,  since 
we've  had  none  ourselves." 

Forcing  a  smile,  she  drank  to  this. 


272  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  XVI 

ILLUSIONS  OF  LIFE 

IT  WAS  in  Vancouver  that  the  Kansan  first  ad- 
mitted to  himself  that  his  health  was  noticeably 
failing.  Frequent  headaches  convinced  him  that  the 
trouble  lay  in  his  nerves,  so,  instead  of  consulting  a 
druggist  or  other  administrator  of  drugs,  he  inter- 
viewed an  osteopath. 

The  latter  told  him  he  was  a  neurasthenic  and  had 
become  so  as  a  result  of  continued  mental  strain. 
"You  are  organically  intact,"  was  the  diagnosis, 
"but  your  nerve  cells  have  been  impoverished 
through  excessive  thinking  and  possibly  fretting." 

"Pve  nothing  to  worry  over,  Doctor,"  protested 
Peter;  "so  it  can't  be  that." 

"It  must  be  something  of  the  nature,"  persisted 
the  osteopath.  "You've  just  told  me  you  were  a 
writer,  haven't  you?  Besides,  I  can  see  by  your  face 
that  you  are  a  student.  You  have  too  much  head 
for  the  bodily  vitality  you  possess.  I  have  met  your 
kind  before. 

"You  will  have  to  take  a  rest,  Mr.  Bosten.  That's 
the  only  cure.  I  can  help  you  to  some  extent;  but 
what's  the  use  of  my  renewing  your  vitality  if  you 
keep  draining  it  off  like  this?" 


Illusions  of  Life  273 

Peter  took  some  treatments  and  promised  to  be 
more  considerate  of  himself;  but  he  had  to  earn 
enough  money  to  live  on,  and  the  only  kind  of  work 
he  could  do  was  that  which  seemed  to  have  very  lit- 
tle market  value,  and  must  therefore  be  performed 
in  large  quantities — brain  work.  At  the  time  of  his 
interview  he  was  engaged  on  one  of  the  local  papers, 
working  out  a  series  of  articles  to  prove  Canada  had 
not  made  a  mistake  by  defeating  reciprocity  in  1911. 
The  editor  was  exacting  as  well  as  penurious,  and 
every  dollar  to  the  hack  represented  drops  of  sweat, 
if  not  nerve  fluid. 

The  treatments  undoubtedly  helped  him,  but  their 
effect  was  neutralized  by  his  daily  toil.  It  seemed 
to  Peter  that  he  burned  up  thrice  the  vitality  in  a 
given  task  that  the  majority  of  his  fellows  did.  He 
could  not  enter  into  anything  half-heartedly.  His 
life,  he  was  beginning  to  believe,  would  not  be  a  long 
one;  but  at  any  rate  it  should  never  be  said  of  him 
that  he  had  wasted  time.  He  might  have  chosen 
easier  means  of  livelihood  than  journalism,  he  knew; 
but  the  monotony  of  a  brainless,  time-killing  occu- 
pation; the  routine  of  a  mean  system  for  securing 
money  alone,  would  have  worn  him  out  as  surely  as 
did  excessive  labor  in  the  more  or  less  congenial 
vocation  of  journalism,  or  "literature"  as  he  liked 
to  call  it  in  his  ambitious  moments. 


274  Peter  Bosten 

He  still  had  occasional  dreams  of  becoming,  at 
some  time,  a  successful  free  lance ;  particularly  after 
indulging  in  a  good  cup  of  coffee  or  a  rare  glass  of 
other  stimulant;  but  such  dreams  were  growing 
less  and  less  frequent. 

His  desire  for  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  life  was 
blunted  these  times.  He  believed  it  would  sharpen 
again,  after  a  while,  under  some  natural  reaction; 
but  even  though  it  did  not  he  could  be  tolerably  con- 
tent. Not  content,  either,  he  mused :  it  was  not  his 
nature  to  be  content :  but — well,  he  could  live  on  and 
take  a  certain  interest  in  this  existence. 

He  was  still  in  Vancouver  when  the  World  War 
broke  in  Europe;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
intellectual  part  of  him  experienced  something  re- 
sembling pleasure  in  the  event.  He  saw  the  men  and 
women  around  him  in  a  new  light.  A  new  interest 
in  life  was  unexpectedly  afforded  him. 

Soldiers  began  to  parade  the  streets,  and  there 
were  demonstrations  against  the  "enemy's  sympa- 
thizers." Flags  appeared  in  peaceful  places,  wild  re- 
ports were  circulated,  most  of  the  people  and  all  of 
the  newspapers  went  mad. 

Soon  the  Kansan  lost  his  artificial  pleasure  in  the 
phenomenon,  however.  Newspaper  reports  became 
convincing;  statements  were  made  by  men  high  in 
authority  that  the  carnage  would  go  on  for  at  least 


Illusions  of  Life  275 

three  years.  The  hatred  deepened,  the  madness 
grew.  Blood  ran  in  rivers,  and  men  over  all  the 
earth  began  to  tremble. 

In  a  few  weeks  Peter  left  off  reading  about  the 
thing.  His  soul  was  sick  with  it.  His  editor  wanted 
him  to  write  pro-British  articles  and  short  stories 
about  the  conflict;  but  he  complained  of  his  head- 
aches and  asked  for  lighter  work  and  less  pay.  The 
truth  was,  he  had  no  heart  to  champion  either  side 
of  the  slaughter.  He  could  not  help  thinking  of  the 
Prussian  mothers  and  children;  even  of  the  men 
themselves,  the  dupes  of  a  diabolical  doctrine. 

A  fortunate  circumstance,  at  this  time,  afforded 
him  a  much-needed  opportunity  for  a  rest.  He  sold 
a  story  to  an  American  magazine  for  one  hundred 
dollars  and  was  paid  on  acceptance.  Under  other 
conditions  he  might  have  simply  quit  work  and  taken 
his  leisure.  But  the  war  was  upon  his  mind  and  he 
had  to  express  his  convictions  regarding  it.  So  he 
resigned  his  newspaper  position,  engaged  a  room  at 
two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  per  week,  and,  instead  of 
resting,  set  to  work  on  a  war  novel. 

He  wrote  sixty-five  thousand  words  in  fifteen  days, 
laid  the  manuscript  aside  for  a  week,  during  which 
he  nursed  an  aching  head  and  slept  most  of  the  time ; 
then  spent  another  ten  days  revamping  and  retyping 
the  story.  He  made  three  copies  of  it,  an  original 


276  Peter  Bosten 

and  two  carbons ;  and  these  he  began  peddling  among 
the  various  periodicals,  daily,  weekly  and  monthly, 
in  town. 

The  universal  verdict  was  to  the  effect  that 
"Americans  coming  here  with  pro-German  views  like 
this  ought  to  be  kicked  out  of  the  country."  Peter 
knew  he  had  dealt  fairly  with  the  subject;  if  there 
had  been  any  bias  at  all,  it  had  been  in  favor  of  the 
Allies.  He  had  merely  constructed  an  argument 
against  war  in  general,  and  the  injustice  arising 
from  the  warring  spirit  in  particular ;  but  these  red- 
blooded  champions  of  the  people's  and  the  country's 
cause  fired  up,  every  man  of  them,  at  his  story ;  and 
wanted  to  have  him  thrown  into  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

The  conclusion  Peter  came  to  was  that  Canada,  or 
any  other  nation  going  to  war,  fought  because  it 
wanted  to  fight.  Neither  an  individual  soldier  nor  a 
nation  flew  at  an  imaginary  adversary's  throat  out 
of  a  love  of  "liberty  and  truth,"  but  from  love  of 
"glory"  and  self.  It  was  the  lust  of  blood,  not  the 
ideals  of  mind,  that  precipitated  war. 

Technically,  he  argued,  Canada  and  the  Allies  were 
justified  in  blocking  Germany's  muderous  game. 
But  no  Britisher  or  other  supporter  of  the  allied 
cause  was  justified  in  proclaiming  war  a  beautiful 
thing,  or  in  resenting  philosophical  denunciations  of 


Illusions  of  Life  277 

the  carnage,  on  the  grounds  of  "loyalty."  It  was  all 
rotten  hypocrisy. 

If  the  combatants  of  either  side  wanted  to  slay 
their  "enemies"  let  them  do  so.  A  few  millions  of 
lives  made  little  ultimate  difference  in  the  affairs  of 
the  world  anyway.  But  let  them  not  deceive  them- 
selves and  try  to  deceive  others  into  thinking  their 
work  laudable  and  glorious. 

Their  pretensions  were  like  the  blatant  notes  of 
their  band  music  to  the  Kansan.  They  jarred  on  his 
ear  and  his  soul.  Finally  he  packed  his  grip,  throw- 
ing the  war  story  manuscript  in  as  carelessly  as  he 
did  his  shirts,  and  left  for  "home." 

Once  among  Americans  again,  however,  he  suf- 
fered a  reaction  in  favor  of  the  Allies.  Here,  in 
various  directions,  was  sentiment  that  excused  the 
Kaiser  in  his  conquest  plan.  Peter  hated  it  and  the 
hypocrisy  that  fostered  it. 

"All  fools!"  he  cried,  almost  in  a  passion.  "Let 
them  fly  at  each  other's  throats  and  murder — mur- 
der !  The  lust  is  in  their  blood.  They  are  mad  for 
carnage  and  death.  So  God  give  it  to  them !" 

His  headaches  showed  no  signs  of  leaving,  and  he 
was  aware  of  a  growing  disinclination  for  mental  ef- 
fort. He  still  had  some  money,  but  it  would  not  last 
long;  and  after  it  was  gone — what?  He  had  no 
energy  at  all  left,  it  seemed. 


278  Peter  Bosten 

A  Portland  newspaper  friend  secured  him  passage 
to  San  Francisco,  shortly  after  his  return  to  the 
States ;  otherwise  he  believed  he  would  have  contem- 
plated suicide.  If  one  did  not  like  one's  house,  why 
not  move  out  of  it?  This  old  question  had  been  tor- 
menting him  for  nights  prior  to  his  securing  the 
ticket  to  California. 

Once  on  board  the  'Frisco  boat,  however,  he  felt 
better  in  body  and  spirit.  Exasperated  with  the 
pains  of  his  nervous  system  he  had  resorted  to  the 
use  of  asperin,  a  drug  that  was  becoming  alarmingly 
popular  among  tired  men  and  women.  Peter  real- 
ized the  danger  this  practice  might  involve  him  in ; 
but  it  did  not  worry  him.  He  felt  that  even  death 
would  be  preferable  to  the  moods  that  had  been  sit- 
ting upon  him  of  late.  After  all,  why  fear  the  dis- 
solution of  this  house  of  clay?  There  was  another 
existence  beyond,  probably.  And  if  not — would  not 
eternal  sleep  be  welcome? 

A  tall,  well-dressed  gentleman,  in  clerical  garb,  ap- 
proached the  dreamer  as  he  reclined  against  the 
deck  railing. 

"I  beg  your  pardon — but  aren't  you  Mr.  Bosten?" 

Peter  frowned,  for  he  too  readily  recognized  the 
unwelcome  one.  It  was  Reverend  Theodore  Rollins. 
Peter  consciously  associated  the  word  "Reverend" 
with  him  now,  although  he  knew  the  preachers  of 


Illusions  of  Life  279 

*  'Noel's  church"  did  not  allow  it  to  be  attached  to 
them. 

A  desultory  conversation  ensued,  the  Kansan  tak- 
ing very  little  interest  until  he  discovered  that  Rol- 
lins was  now  traveling  and  lecturing  against  the 
church  in  which  he  had  been  so  long  a  pastor. 

Here  was  a  new  phase  of  the  psychology  of  re- 
ligion. 

He  asked  the  gentleman  how  the  change  had  come 
about  in  him,  and  was  informed,  in  a  wordy  perora- 
tion, of  the  way  "the  Lord"  had  "led  him  to  a  fuller 
understanding  of  the  gospel  of  Christ"  and  shown 
him  "the  man  of  sin"  in  the  person  of  "Milton 
Stern!" 

At  mention  of  a  name  that  he  respected,  Peter 
fixed  his  skeptical  eye  on  the  "holy  sensationalist" 
(as  he  afterwards  named  him)  and  began  filling  up 
with  indignation. 

All  unsuspecting,  however,  the  worthy  Rollins  con- 
tinued his  apology,  flying,  if  not  in  the  "face  of  Provi- 
dence," at  least  in  the  face  of  trouble. 

Suddenly,  unable  to  control  himself  longer,  the 
Kansan  loosed  his  tongue  and  told  this  "funny  little 
champion  of  the  Most  High"  (quoting  a  Socialist 
whom  Peter  admired),  a  few  things  he  had  never 
heard  before. 

"You  are  not  worthy  to  shine  President  Stern's 


280  Peter  Bosten 

shoes,"  said  Peter,  surprised  that,  after  five  years  of 
varied  struggles  in  which  his  soul's  welfare  had  not 
troubled  him  much,  he  should  be  taking  the  side  of 
any  one  religionist  against  another.  "Your  poor 
little  brain  is  so  small  that  if  it  described  a  circle 
about  a  really  original,  let  alone  a  lofty,  idea,  the  ex- 
pansion would  drive  you  insane.  Beat  it  away  to 
your  stateroom,  or  jump  overboard  or  something. 
In  any  case  don't  bother  me  with  your  infinitesimal 
existence !" 

The  next  moment  Peter  regretted  his  loss  of  tem- 
per, as  one  usually  does  after  the  harm  has  been 
done. 

"What's  the  matter  with  me  lately?"  he  demanded 
of  himself.  "I'm  becoming  so  irritable  I  can't  be 
civil  with  anyone." 

However,  in  thinking  over  Rollins's  words,  he 
doubted  if  the  rebuke  had  been  strong  enough.  The 
idea  of  a  man's  swinging  on  a  pivot  of  hypocrisy 
like  that !  How  could  he  reconcile  his  faith  in  Jesus 
Christ  with  such  a  mean  conception  of  his  fellows 
and  such  an  exaggerated  opinion  of  himself? 

What  did  these  little  pretended  followers  of  the 
great  Jewish  Prophet  know  about  him,  anyway? 
How  poorly  their  petty  utterances  compared  with 
the  sweeping  strength  of  His ;  how  mean  their  labors 
were  as  compared  with  His  labors ! 


Illusions  of  Life  281 

As  he  scanned  the  horizon,  which  seemed  to  rise 
and  fall  with  the  motion  of  the  boat,  Peter  had  a 
repetition  of  the  vision  that  had  confronted  him  one 
Sabbath  in  New  York.  The  White  Figure  of  Madi- 
son Square  Gardens  again  rose  before  his  spiritual 
sight  and  he  saw  the  waifs  gathered  about  him  for 
protection. 

"Oh,"  he  thought,  "if  only  it  were  possible  for  me 
to  lay  my  head  upon  the  breast  of  the  Perfect  Man 
incarnate,  and  realize  that  there  was  something  more 
than  hypocrisy  and  delusion  in  the  world,  how  sweet 
my  rest  would  be! 

"If  I  could  only  believe  in  this  heaven  of  the  Chris- 
tian's, this  place  of  peace  and  refuge,  with  what  a 
different  aspect  life,  here  and  hereafter,  would  be 
endowed !  But  no ;  I  can  not  do  it.  I  can  not  forget 
the  littleness  of  man.  We  are  insects,  crawling  to- 
ward our  doom;  some  of  us  pompously,  others 
wearily  and  in  pain  like  myself;  but  all  inevitably. 
The  Black  Gates  will  close  on  us  one  day.  Let  them 
close  on  me  as  soon  as  they  may :  I  am  sick  and  dis- 
gusted with  the  present  aimless,  meaningless  exist- 
ence. Unconsciousness,  oblivion  would  be  infinitely 
preferable  to  this.  Here  I  live  without  love,  without 
hope,  even  without  mortal  ambition  of  late.  I  guess 
I  am  one  of  the  unfit;  I  have  not  survived  in  the 
Great  Evolution.  If  there  be  another  state  of  being, 


282  Peter  Bosten 

I  shall  probably  come  forth  as  a  sort  of  trades- 
man-in-spirit,  doomed  to  an  existence  of  trivial  en- 
deavors, soulless,  thoughtless,  ambitionless.  There  I 
shall  learn  lessons  fitting  me  for  one  more  epoch; 
and  so  on  ad  infinitum. 

"Well,  well,"  he  sighed,  "so  let  it  be.  I  may  rebel 
against  my  fate,  I  suppose ;  but  it  will  do  me  no  good. 
I  must  bow  to  the  inevitable  at  last,  even  though  I 
hesitate  in  doing  so  just  now." 

Pursuing  these  and  similar  reflections  he  sank 
into  a  state  of  mental  gloom.  The  horizon  of  life 
seemed  infinitely  darker  to  him  than  the  sea's  hori- 
zon, now  fading  from  slate-gray  to  a  heavy  blue- 
black.  Though  the  sun  had  long  since  gone  down 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  seaward,  he  con- 
tinued to  gaze,  as  though  yearning  to  penetrate  the 
impenetrable.  So  like  Peter! — him  of  the  hungry 
mind  of  unbelief. 

Came  before  his  mental  vision  the  worldly  charac- 
ters he  had  best  known.  Ignorant,  grubbing  farmers ; 
cunning,  penurious  merchants;  arrogant,  egotis- 
tical men  of  "big  business";  unscrupulous,  schem- 
ing politicians;  little-brained,  self-deluded,  self-ap- 
pointed "leaders"  of  public  thought:  all  the  host  of 
two-legged  ants,  born  from  the  womb  of  Eternity 
but  doomed  to  live  but  a  day — who  danced  and 
capered  throughout  the  span  of  their  infinitesimal 


Illusions  of  Life  283 

existence.  Funny  little  animate  specks,  so  insignifi- 
cant it  took  the  mind  of  a  man  to  comprehend  them ! 

Peter  knew  as  he  sat  there  staring  into  Pacific 
night,  that  he  had  drunk  his  fill  of  the  liquid,  Life ; 
as  it  tasted  to  him  now,  at  any  rate.  He  had  wit- 
nessed the  disappearance  of  so  many  ideals,  encoun- 
tered so  many  contradictions  in  his  dreams,  and  faced 
the  unknowable  so  long,  his  soul  had  lost  appetite. 
What  it  took  some  placid  souls  three  score  years  and 
ten  to  achieve:  a  distaste  for  human  existence:  he 
had  achieved  in  less  than  thirty. 

When  he  reached  San  Francisco  he  found  great 
preparations  going  on  for  the  Panama-Pacific  Expo- 
sition. Here  there  was  little  thought  of  war,  evi- 
dently: the  people  were  entertaining  themselves  in 
a  different  fashion.  They  were  not  shooting  bombs 
at  one  another  and  destroying  cities,  it  was  true ;  but 
they  were  lavishing  wealth,  labor,  and  time  upon 
pleasure-idols,  to  create  which  the  poor  and  unfor- 
tunate of  America  had  been  robbed.  In  Europe  the 
ignorant,  the  oppressed  were  being  marshaled  to 
fight  the  battles  of  their  lords  and  kings;  forced  to 
leave  their  wives  and  children  to  take  up  the  sword 
against  unknown  and  unoffending  "enemies" — who 
were  doing  the  same  thing  for  their  lords  and  kings. 
But  here  in  America,  the  land  of  the  free  and 
home  of  the  brave,  the  under-dog  was  subjected  to 


284  Peter  Bosten 

no  such  indignity.  He  was  merely  robbed  of  the 
means  of  earning  a  livelihood  and  permitted  to  re- 
main at  home  with  his  family  and  starve.  He  was 
merely  obliged  to  calmly  lay  down  his  life  in  this  un- 
heroic,  inglorious  manner,  so  that  the  many  kings  of 
America  might  flaunt  their  splendor  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world.  If  he  chose,  he  might  join  an  army,  indeed: 
the  army  of  the  unemployed :  but,  of  course,  in  that 
case  he  must  be  prepared  to  face  the  militia  of  what- 
soever money-force  elected  to  parade  one. 

"Hypocrisy ;  miserable,  rancid  hypocrisy !"  shouted 
the  Kansan,  in  his  soul,  as  he  made  his  way  through 
the  crowds,  heedless  of  the  glory  of  mammon ;  bent 
upon  securing  as  cheap  a  bed  as  possible  for  the 
night. 

He  walked  on  and  on,  as  if  trying  to  escape  from 
the  noise  and  glamor.  Now  and  then  he  turned  to 
look  back,  but  straightway  went  forward  again,  not 
yet  satisfied  with  his  distance  from  Bedlam's  center. 

By  and  by  he  turned  up  a  quiet  street,  hoping  to 
find  a  reasonable  lodging  there.  However,  there 
were  no  "Rooms  for  Rent'*  signs  anywhere  visible; 
and  he  was  about  to  retrace  his  steps  when  a  small 
church  across  the  way  attracted  his  eye.  It  bore  the 
name  by  which  "Noel's  church"  was  known. 

With  the  thought  that  possibly  Noel  himself  might 


Illusions  of  Life  285 

be  pastor  here,  the  Kansan  crossed  over  and  read 
the  announcement  board. 

But  the  pastor's  name,  as  printed  on  the  board, 
was  unknown  to  Peter. 

Nevertheless,  a  special  announcement  written  in 
chalk  interested  him :  "On  Sunday  evening,"  it  said, 
"Milton  Stern,  President  of  the  Church,  will  be  the 
speaker." 

The  Kansan's  heart  grew  a  shade  lighter  as  he 
read. 

"Well,"  he  soliloquized,  "here's  something  at  last 
that  is  worth  a  look-in." 

It  was  now  Friday  night;  and  he  had  enough 
money  to  last  him  a  week.  So  he  decided  to  rest  dur- 
ing Saturday  and  Sunday,  and  procrastinate  the 
sickening  ordeal  of  job-hunting  until  Monday.  His 
chief  desire,  now,  was  to  sleep  and  forget.  The 
physical  reason  was  nervous  debility;  the  mental — 
well,  who  shall  say? 

He  found  a  little  room,  as  clean  as  it  was  cheap, 
not  far  from  the  church ;  and  without  ceremony  (un- 
less a  bath  may  be  so  described)  went  to  bed. 

Presently  the  pounding  of  his  head  grew  less  pain- 
ful, and  he  dozed  off  into  dreamland.  There  he  wan- 
dered by  phosphorescent  waves  with  Helen  Dyke, 
and  the  cicadas  sang  their  song  in  the  darkness.  She 
was  weeping,  it  seemed,  and  begging  him  to  do  some- 


286  Peter  Bosten 

thing  for  which  he  could  not  obtain  the  consent  of 
his  mind. 

All  the  agony  of  love  he  had  known  in  reality  con- 
densed itself  into  that  dream.  The  perspiration 
stood  out  on  his  forehead,  and  he  awakened,  after 
midnight,  acutely  conscious  of  pain. 

Then  he  took  another  asperin  tablet,  which  soothed 
away  his  headache  and  heartache.  He  sank  again 
into  dreams ;  but  this  time  it  was  Adele  Cressy  with 
whom  he  talked,  and  they  were  drinking  a  toast,  not 
to  the  loves  of  others,  but  their  own. 


Illusions  of  Life  287 

CHAPTER  XVII 

A  SERMON  ON  AMERICA 

ON  Sunday  evening  Peter  went  over  to  the  little 
church  early.  He  selected  a  seat  near  the  back  and 
watched  the  people  as  they  came  in.  As  opening 
time  neared  and  he  saw  neither  a  crowded  house  nor 
the  President,  however,  he  began  to  fear  disappoint- 
ment. 

But  Peter  had  no  sooner  formed  a  resolution  to 
stay  and  hear  whoever  might  speak,  than  Mr.  Stern's 
athletic  figure  was  seen  walking  with  businesslike 
stride  up  the  aisle :  and  the  individual  seated  directly 
ahead  of  the  Kansan  heard  a  sigh  of  relief  near  by. 

After  the  second  hymn,  Peter  settled  back  in  his 
seat,  upon  the  heavy  arm  of  which  he  rested  his  el- 
bow, and  assumed  a  position  best  calculated  to  hu- 
mor a  heavy  head. 

The  President  cast  an  appraising  glance  upon  his 
audience,  as  he  rose  and  stood  behind  the  pulpit. 
His  face,  it  seemed  to  the  Kansan,  had  grown  per- 
haps a  little  less  aggressive  and  more  thoughtful. 
His  tone,  to-night  at  any  rate,  was  undoubtedly  more 
pensive  than  as  Peter  remembered  it. 

"I  think  it  a  fitting  time,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
brothers  and  sisters,"  he  began,  "to  speak  about  this 


288  Peter  Bosten 

country  of  ours,  past  and  present.  This  year  marks 
a  step  in  our  national  development  that  puts  us  in 
the  van  of  nations.  We  have  built  a  city  of  fine-stone 
and  metal  for  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  it  and  the 
gratification  of  pointing  to  it.  I  would  remind  you, 
to-night,  of  the  deeper  significance  of  this  tendency 
toward  display,  which  is  not  a  new  one,  upon  the 
part  of  our  own  land  and  of  all  the  earth." 

Already  the  Kansan  was  deeply  interested.  His 
mind  had  been  working  in  this  same  direction,  since 
his  coming  to  'Frisco. 

"Let  me  carry  you  back,"  the  speaker  continued, 
"to  the  early  history  of  America.  Come  with  me  to 
Mexico,  Peru  and  elsewhere  to  the  south  of  us, 
among  the  ruins  of  civilization  upon  civilization 
there.  Modern  archaeologists  have  made  it  clear  to 
the  world  that  long  before  Columbus  came  to  America 
there  were  peoples  upon  this  continent  possessed  of 
great  culture.  Not  dark-skinned  progenitors  of  the 
savage  tribes  Columbus  found  here ;  but  a  white  race 
who  knew  a  civilization  equal  to  that  of  the  Old 
World  at  the  same  period." 

Here  Mr.  Stern  quoted  from  Baldwin,  Humboldt 
and  a  number  of  other  archaeologists  and  historians, 
to  prove  his  assertions. 

"So  you  see,"  he  went  on,  "the  Indians  were  but  a 
degenerate  remnant  of  the  cultured  races.  They 


Illusions  of  Life  289 

held  barbaric  sway  over  ruined  cities;  over  sub- 
merged aqueducts  and  concrete  highways, — one  of 
which  was  at  least  fifteen  hundred  miles  long, — more 
ignorant  of  their  own  origin  than  we  are.  Yet  in  the 
traditions  of  these  savage  tribes  we  find  hints  of  the 
very  origin  I  shall  endeavor  to  establish — Asiatic." 

The  speaker  quoted  other  authorities,  linguists 
and  scientists,  until  Peter  marveled  at  his  own  igno- 
rance and  that  of  other  Americans,  ostensibly  "cul- 
tured," regarding  the  ancient  history  of  their  own 
land. 

Finally  Mr.  Stern  turned  from  "profane"  to 
"sacred"  history,  bringing  Bible  prophecies  and  alle- 
gories to  bear  upon  his  argument.  From  the  "be- 
liever's" point  of  view  he  adduced  unlimited  scrip- 
tural proof  of  his  contention  that  the  Ancient  Ameri- 
cans came  from  Asia,  carried  religious  records  with 
them,  were  directed  by  God  just  as  their  contem- 
poraries in  the  Old  World  were;  kept  a  history  of 
their  own,  engraven,  in  the  ancient  custom,  upon 
metal  plates;  and,  before  their  extinction  by  war, 
were  visited  by  the  Messiah  after  his  resurrection, 
just  as  he  visited  the  Judeans. 

The  speaker  wove  a  fabric  in  which  there  were  no 
loose  threads,  for  believers  in  God.  He  affirmed  that 
the  Almighty  was  just  as  capable  of  issuing  instruc- 
tions to  his  disciples  nowadays  as  in  the  past;  that 


290  Peter  Bosten 

he  had  done  so,  in  fact,  revealing  by  what  men 
termed  "miraculous"  means  the  whereabouts  of 
those  Ancient  American  records  engraven  upon 
metal  plates. 

By  the  "power  of  God"  these  plates  had  been  trans- 
lated, and  the  story  of  human  life  therein  revealed 
was  a  warning  to  the  America  of  to-day. 

"My  friends,"  he  said,  "you  may  not  believe  that 
God  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  for  ever. 
You  may  think  it  incredible  that  he  should  warn 
moderns,  as  he  did  ancients,  of  their  specific  sins  and 
aid  them  in  specific  difficulties.  My  remarks  to-night 
may  seem  visionary,  ultraromantic  to  you.  If  you 
do  not  believe  in  Christ  Jesus  and  the  Bible,  I  may 
even  sound  like  a  deluded  dreamer.  But  let  me 
briefly  recount  the  story  of  the  fall  of  those  Ancient 
Americans,  as  recorded  in  the  translation  of  the 
plates  I  have  mentioned,  and  see  if  it  does  not  accord 
with  your  observations  of  life,  to-day. 

"The  claim  made  is  that  three  great  civilizations 
were  one  time  extant  upon  North  and  South 
America.  Two  of  these  were  contemporaneous  with 
Judean  captivity  and  each  other;  the  third  had  its 
origin  at  the  time  of  Babel. 

"When  the  second  and  third  groups  arrived  in  the 
New  Land  they  found  the  ruins  of  that  civilization 
which  was  built  upon  the  wanderers  from  Babel. 


Illusions  of  Life  291 

"Now  the  record  of  all  these  groups  is  contained 
in  a  book  which  this  church  I  represent  believes  to 
contain  the  word  of  God,  as  does  the  Bible.  I  hold 
the  book  here  in  my  hand.  It  has  been  sorely  abused, 
but  not  more  sorely  than  the  Scriptures  which  all  of 
you,  I  presume,  accept.  Mankind,  you  know,  is  ever 
averse  to  truth." 

The  Kansan  unconsciously  nodded  his  head.  iHe 
was  thinking  of  his  experience  in  journalism. 

"And  this  record,  my  friends,  tells  how  each  of 
those  ancient  civilizations  came  to  naught  through 
hatred,  lust  and  murder.  They  set  up  kings,  idols 
of  clay,  which  they  worshiped  instead  of  the  God  of 
heaven — even  as  the  nations  are  doing  to-day !  The 
petty  causes  of  these  kings  they  championed,  flying 
at  each  other's  throats  as  Europe  has  done  within 
the  past  few  months." 

"By  Jove !"  murmured  the  Kansan. 

"Generation  after  generation  they  did  this,  until 
their  lands  lay  waste  and  their  cities  in  ruins.  The 
first  civilization  utterly  perished,  about  the  time  of 
Israel's  bondage ;  their  records  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  second  and  third  civilizations,  and  being  trans- 
lated by  the  power  of  God. 

"But  these  succeeding  peoples,  far  from  learning 
the  lesson  of  obedience  to  right  and  service  of  God, 
contained  in  the  said  records,  began  the  old  folly  of 


292  Peter  Bosten 

worshiping  puppet  man;  creating  kings,  images  of 
clay,  whose  unworthy  quarrels  they  might  assume: 
for,  as  mortal  man  has  always  done,  they  lusted  to 
slaughter  and  destroy,  even  as  it  is  happening  to- 
night in  sorry  Europe :  and  after  centuries  of  blood- 
shed and  wickedness,  all  that  remained  of  them  was  a 
dark-skinned  remnant,  who  survived  by  the  mercy 
of  God  and  for  his  great  purposes. 

"Now,  my  friends,  I  shall  not  go  into  a  discussion 
of  the  modern  revelation  of  these  truths.  Suffice  it 
to  say  that,  because  of  my  faith  in  the  unchange- 
ability  of  God,  I  find  it  possible  to  believe  in  the  di- 
vinity of  this  book  and  the  wondrous  way  in  which 
the  Almighty  has  given  it  to  us  in  these  last  days. 
And  if  you  will  investigate  the  matter,  with  an  open 
mind  and  a  sincere  desire  to  find  the  truth,  you  will 
be  aided  by  his  Spirit  in  doing  so.  You  will,  I  be- 
lieve, come  to  see  as  I  do.  This  may  sound  egotisti- 
cal; but  if  I  did  not  believe  this  church  to  be  the 
Kingdom  of  God  on  earth,  I  should  not  be  preaching 
to  you  to-night. 

"In  closing,  let  me  point  you  to  this  Exposition,  as 
an  instance  of  man's  misconception  of  right  and 
duty.  Our  country  is  burdened  with  suffering  that 
needs  alleviation,  crime  that  needs  eradication,  igno- 
rance that  needs  instruction,  customs  that  need 
reformation.  Yet  we  spend  millions  of  dollars,  we 


A  Sermon  on  America  293 

condemn  the  poor  to  starvation  and  the  suffering 
to  their  woe,  in  order  that  we  may  set  up  and  wor- 
ship gods  of  gold  and  glass.  I  ask  you,  my  friends, 
are  we  materially  different  from  the  civilizations 
upon  which  archaeology  has  thrown  its  light;  which 
went  down  into  oblivion  through  vanity  and  lust? 
Have  we  not  a  king,  King  Dollar,  who  dominates  us, 
takes  away  our  reason,  our  religion  and  our  humani- 
tarianism? 

"They  tell  me,  those  who  elect  to  apologize  for  this 
gaudy  extravagance,  that  it  is  educational;  that  it 
marks  the  progress  of  the  race  and  will  stand  as  a 
landmark  for  ever  in  the  evolution  of  the  world. 

"But,  my  friends,  let  them  not  speak  of  'progress' 
and  'world  evolution*  in  the  face  of  present  facts. 
Have  enlightenment  and  culture  availed  to  restrain 
the  surging  armies?  The  answer  lies  before  us.  I 
refer  you  to  last  night's  papers. 

"No;  we  can  not  be  deceived.  Advancement  in 
the  arts  and  sciences  is  not  what  humanity  needs,  but 
regeneration  of  soul"  Mr.  Stern  laid  emphasis  on 
the  phrase.  "The  light  that  has  reached  the  brain  of 
man  must  penetrate  to  his  inner  being,  burn  away 
the  selfishness,  purify  his  passions. 

"And  I  believe  the  gospel  of  Christ  Jesus  to  be  the 
only  power  capable  of  accomplishing  this.  Civiliza- 
tion may  follow  civilization,  kingdoms  rise  and  fall 


294  Peter  Bosten 

for  ever,  science  of  man  encompass  the  very  skies ; 
but  until  the  Spirit  of  God  enters  our  hearts  and 
takes  up  its  abode  there,  there  can  be  no  real  prog- 
ress. 

"This  Exposition  may  be  a  landmark  indeed.  But 
what  story  shall  it  tell  to  the  future?  The  old,  old 
story  of  'man's  inhumanity  to  man'?  Ah,  my 
friends,  I  am  afraid  so !  It  is  built  upon  the  sandy 
foundation  of  mortal  vanity ;  and  the  record  of  it  or 
the  ruins  of  it  can  bear  no  nobler  tale  than  underlies 
the  foundation  of  it. 

"Nor  can  the  lives  of  those  who  established  it,  and 
the  lives  of  you  and  me,  my  friends,  mean  any  more 
in  the  evolution  of  truth  and  the  universe  than  the 
inmost  desires  of  these  hearts  mean.  Unless  we  have 
the  love  of  God  within  us,  a  genuine  yearning  for  the 
triumph  of  honesty  and  righteousness,  our  achieve- 
ments are  a  shame  unto  us,  and  will  perish  with 
these  temples  of  clay." 

With  these  words  the  speaker  abruptly  closed ;  and 
Peter  Bosten  clutched  his  palms  as  a  nervous  tremor 
passed  through  him.  He  had  been  keyed  up  to  a 
high  pitch,  during  the  sermon,  and,  the  spell  broken, 
was  now  experiencing  a  reaction. 

Though  the  physical  spell  was  broken,  however, 
the  spiritual  was  not.  The  Kansan  sat  staring  be- 
fore him ;  hearing  still  the  President's  voice ;  marvel- 


A  Sermon  on  America  295 

ing  at  the  terrific  import  of  his  utterances,  their 
profound  significance,  their  convincing  force. 

Peter  seemed  unaware  that  the  audience  was  leav- 
ing. His  head  rested  wearily  in  his  palm,  his  eyes 
remained  fixed,  and  he  was  oblivious  of  everything — 
until  a  familiar  voice  roused  him. 

"Hello  Mr.  Bosten!  I  scarcely  expected  to  meet 
you  away  out  here." 

Mr.  Stern  was  smiling  and  extending  a  large  hand. 

"You  do  well  to  remember  me,"  returned  the  Kan- 
san  surprised.  "We  only  met  once,  Mr.  Stern." 

"That's  true.  But  maybe  we  are  kindred  spirits 
or  something  of  the  sort.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  rec- 
ognizing you  from  the  pulpit  anyway." 

Peter  wondered  why  the  President  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  approach  a  nonmember  and  a  stranger 
like  this,  and  why  he  seemed  inclined  to  linger. 
There  must  be  many  others  present  who  would  be 
happy  to  monopolize  him. 

"Mr.  Stern,"  he  asked,  on  the  inspiration  of  an 
idea,  "could  you  spare  me  a  few  minutes  to-morrow? 
I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you." 

"Why  not  to-night?"  came  the  reply.  "You  might 
walk  up  to  my  room  with  me,  if  you  care  for  the 
exercise." 

"That  will  suit  me  splendidly.  I'll  wait  for  you 
in  this  seat." 


296  Peter  Bosten 

A  few  minutes  later  they  left  the  church  together, 
turning  in  the  direction  of  Peter's  lodging;  and  as 
one  of  the  matters  he  wanted  to  see  Stern  about  was 
the  Canadian  war  story,  he  dropped  into  his  room  in 
passing  and  got  one  of  the  manuscripts. 

"After  hearing  such  views  as  yours  to-night,"  ex- 
plained the  Kansan,  "I  felt  that  I  had  to  beg  this 
favor  of  you." 

"My  goodness,"  returned  the  athletic  preacher, 
"it's  no  favor  on  my  part.  You're  giving  me  a  pleas- 
ure— doing  me  an  honor.  I  happen  to  know  some- 
thing about  your  literary  labors." 

This  was  news  to  Peter,  as  his  look  of  astonish- 
ment indicated. 

"You  seem  to  keep  forgetting  the  intimacy  be- 
tween Noel  Crayne  and  myself,"  Mr.  Stern  explained 
with  a  smile.  "He  has  gathered  up  everything  of 
yours  he  could  lay  hands  on.  I  doubt  if  some  of  it 
is  yours — there  is  such  a  prolific  use  of  pen-names. 
But  Noel  believes  it  is,  and  that's  enough  for  him." 

Peter  felt  a  lump  rising  in  his  throat.  In  five 
years  he  had  not  written  his  old  friend  a  line.  Yet 
Noel  had  not  forgotten. 

A  silence,  full  of  emotion  for  the  Kansan,  fell  be- 
tween them ;  which  Peter  eventually  found  words  to 
break. 

"I  wonder  if  you'd  lend  me  a  copy  of  this  Ancient 


A  Sermon  on  America  297 

American  record  of  which  you  spoke  to-night,  Mr. 
Stern  ?  I  confess  you  have  got  me  interested." 

"Surely."  The  answer  was  not  accompanied  by 
any  outburst  of  religious  enthusiasm.  Evidently 
the  preacher  knew  his  companion's  temperament. 

By  and  by  the  Kansan  asked  a  favor.  He  must 
snatch  at  straws  under  present  circumstances. 

"You  doubtless  know  some  of  the  newspapers  in 
town.  I  am  wondering  if  your  influence  wouldn't 
help  me  obtain  temporary  work?  I  shouldn't  pre- 
sume to  trouble  you,  Mr.  Stern ;  but  as  a  matter  of 
fact  poor  health  has  put  me  in  rather  a  bad  way." 

The  other  did  not  reply  at  once.  Obviously  he  was 
weighing  his  answer. 

"Can  you  drop  in  on  me  to-morrow  afternoon?" 
he  said.  "I'll  be  better  able  to  give  you  something 
definite  then." 

"Yes,  indeed.    I  appreciate — ." 

"You  say  your  health  is  not  good?"  Mr.  Stern 
purposely  interrupted  the  expression  of  gratitude. 
"What's  the  trouble?" 

"Fagged  nerves,  headaches  and  all  that,"  replied 
Peter. 

"Then  you  need  a  rest,  not  a  newspaper  job." 

"Also,"  grinned  the  Kansan,  "I  need  at  least  one 
meal  a  day  and  a  bed  at  night." 


298  Peter  Bosten 

The  President's  brow  became  clouded,  and  his  eyes 
assumed  a  light  of  inquiry  and  incredulity. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Mr.  Bosten,"  he  asked, 
with  his  square  look,  and  in  a  tone  of  unmistakable 
interest,  "that  a  man  who  can  write  as  you  do,  must 
beg  hack  work  ?" 

The  question  warmed  Peter  toward  him,  chiefly 
because  it  indicated  that  Mr.  Stern  had  no  suspicions 
of  laziness  or  bad  habits,  so  common  in  free  lances. 

"The  trouble,  I  think,  has  been  that  I've  refused  to 
study  popular  demands.  I  haven't  made  a  practice 
of  slinging  sentiment  of  the  best-selling  kind;  and 
now  that  I'm  up  against  it  I  haven't  the  faculty — 
even  though  I  temporarily  had  the  desire, — to  write 
it.  You'll  understand  what  lines  I've  followed,  after 
you've  read  this  manuscript  here." 

Obviously,  Mr.  Stern  was  interested.  He  coaxed 
the  writer  to  go  in  and  spend  the  night  with  him. 
But  reflecting  that  he  had  no  asperin  along,  Peter 
declined,  promising  to  call  the  following  afternoon. 
As  they  bade  each  other  good-night  Stern  took  a  book 
from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  the  writer,  with  the 
words : 

"You'll  appreciate  the  philosophy  of  it  at  any  rate." 

Peter  mused,  as  he  walked  homeward,  on  the  com- 
plexity of  human  thought  and  experience.  Noel 
Crayne  had  asked  him  to  read  this  same  book  six 


A  Sermon  on  America  299 

years  previously,  and  although  he  had  promised  to 
do  so  and  intended  doing  so,  the  desire  had  never 
come  to  him. 

"Then,"  soliloquized  the  Kansan,  "I  was  full  of 
life's  joy.  I  knew  what  love  and  respect  for  humanity 
were.  I  was  appalled  by  the  world's  wisdom  and 
achievements,  allured  by  its  promises,  deceived  by 
its  flattery.  Now  I  am  sick  of  it  all ;  the  glamor  has 
ceased  to  attract,  the  glory  has  disappeared.  I  see 
the  littleness  of  man,  rather  than  his  boasted  great- 
ness. He  is  far  smaller,  even,  than  he  looked  from 
the  top  of  that  skyscraper  on  Broadway.  His  in- 
significance, alone,  is  appalling;  his  hypocrisy,  his 
egotism — disgusting. 

"Evidently  this  book  thinks  no  better  of  him  than 
I  do.  So  we  ought  to  agree.  I  care  not  what  has 
been  said  about  it.  The  praise  or  condemnation  of 
these  little  two-legged  ants — in  heaven's  name,  what 
does  it  signify!" 

Propping  himself  up  with  pillows  and  easing  the 
pain  of  overworked  nerves  by  artificial  means,  Peter 
began  to  read  the  book  loaned  him. 

At  the  same  time  Mr.  Stern,  in  his  room,  was  deep 
in  the  manuscript  that  had  so  offended  Vancouver 
editors  a  fortnight  previously. 

Both  of  them  read  until  long  past  midnight. 

The  following  morning  Peter  slept  late,  and  when 


300  Peter  Bosten 

he  arose,  his  head,  though  dizzy,  gave  him  little 
trouble.  He  stimulated  himself  with  two  cups  of 
strong  coffee,  at  a  lunch  counter  some  blocks  away, 
came  back  to  his  room  for  a  few  more  hours'  read- 
ing, then  set  out  for  President  Stern's  lodging. 

The  latter  greeted  him  with  a  hearty  handshake, 
but  said  nothing  beyond:  "How  are  you  to-day?" 

The  Kansan  wanted  to  ask  him  about  the  manu- 
script, but  refrained,  on  second  thought,  from  men- 
tioning it.  Doubtless  the  leader  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand church  members  had  other  things  to  occupy 
his  mind.  Nor  did  Peter  refer  to  the  book  he  had 
himself  borrowed,  not  desiring  to  make  premature 
comments. 

They  had  been  conversing  casually  a  while  when 
suddenly  Mr.  Stern  opened  a  drawer  in  his  dressing 
stand  and  brought  forth  the  manuscript. 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do  with  this?"  he  asked, 
with  assumed  indifference. 

"Nothing,"  rejoined  the  Kansan,  with  a  half  smile. 
"I  wrote  it  for  the  Canadian  periodicals  and  as  they 
refused  it  I  guess  the  poor  thing  will  suffer  the  fate 
of  many  a  predecessor." 

Mr.  Stern  was  studying  him. 

"Are  you  really  serious,  Mr.  Bosten?" 

"Yes.  Why  not?  You  don't  imagine  I  value  it,  do 
you?" 


A  Sermon  on  America  301 

The  other's  eyes  widened  peculiarly. 

"Why  then  did  you  want  my  opinion  about  it?" 

"Well,"  said  Peter,  "I  just  thought  I'd  like  to  have 
it.  Your  views  coincided  so  thoroughly  with  my 
own  that  I  figured  you  might  find  a  little  diversion 
in  the  story,  and  would  probably  say  things  about 
it  that  would  afford  me  food  for  reflection.  Reflect- 
ing, you  know,  is  about  my  only  pastime." 

"And  you  don't  value  it  much,  you  say?" 

"I  value  nothing  very  much,  Mr.  Stern.  Life  has 
lost  its  spice  to  me."  His  tone  was  solemn,  convinc- 
ing. "This  work  of  my  hands  and  brain  means  little 
to  me,  for  the  reason  that  I  have  no  task  ahead,  now, 
except  mere  existence." 

Stern  leafed  the  manuscript  over  thoughtfully. 
For  the  moment  he  had  forgotten  it  was  in  his  hands. 

"I'm  looking  for  a  private  secretary,"  he  said,  af- 
ter a  silence.  "The  one  I've  had  wants  to  quit  me 
here,  now,  instead  of  a  month  later,  as  it  had  been 
arranged.  Would  you,  I  wonder,  care  to  take  the 
position  temporarily?" 

Peter  felt  his  heart  beat  faster,  on  the  instant,  and 
impulsively  expressed  his  pleasure  at  the  prospect 
offered.  Before  the  words  were  well  out  of  his  mouth 
he  felt  that  he  had  blundered:  he  would — among 
other  things — be  imposing  upon  the  President,  in  the 
present  state  of  health ;  but  Mr.  Stern  took  him  up  in 


302  Peter  Bosten 

a  businesslike  way,  naming  the  salary  attached  to  the 
office,  and  the  places  whither  he  was  bound. 

The  arrangement,  in  fact,  was  completed  almost 
before  the  Kansan  realized  his  situation ;  and  then  it 
was  too  late  to  withdraw.  He  would  have  to  do  his 
best.  If  the  work  taxed  him  too  heavily  he  would 
increase  his  allowance  of  asperin. 

"I  don't  want  to  inspire  great  expectations,"  smiled 
Mr.  Stern,  by  and  by,  turning  the  manuscript  over 
on  his  knee  now  with  a  look  of  conscious  scrutiny, 
"but  I  have  a  notion  I  can  place  this  story.'' 

However,  notwithstanding  the  statement  was 
made  in  a  tone  of  assurance,  Peter  felt  no  thrills. 
The  lure  of  authorship  and  ' 'success"  had  disap- 
peared with  all  the  other  glamor. 

"In  that  case,"  he  replied,  picking  up  the  miniature 
of  a  little  girl  from  Stern's  writing  table,  "I  make 
your  daughter  a  present  of  the  proceeds." 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  303 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  WHY  AND  WHEREFORE 

IN  AN  eastbound  train  that  had  just  left  Denver, 
sat  President  Stern  and  his  secretary  in  conversa- 
tion. It  was  now  late  in  February.  Their  destina- 
tion was  Le  Bois,  Iowa,  where  the  coming  General 
Conference  would  soon  convene. 

The  two  had  been  associated  for  about  three 
weeks,  during  which  time  Peter  had  found  his  com- 
panion to  be  a  companion  indeed.  However,  the 
stress  of  work  had  been  so  great,  upon  both  of  them, 
that  they  had  had  but  little  opportunity  for  recrea- 
tion, conversational  or  otherwise. 

All  the  time  Peter  had  been  reading  and  rereading 
the  book  loaned  him ;  and  now,  with  several  hours  of 
leisure  before  them,  he  believed  the  proper  moment 
to  discuss  it,  had  arrived. 

One  morning  the  President  had,  with  a  grin,  ad- 
dressed his  assistant  as  "Brother" ;  since  which  time 
this  form  of  address  had  been  tacitly  adopted  be- 
tween them.  It  had  an  unique  significance,  in  their 
case. 

"Brother  Stern,"  the  Kansan  now  began,  "this  is 
the  first  good  opportunity  we  have  had  of  discussing 
anything.  Do  you  mind  if  I  make  some  frank  con- 
fessions and  demand  a  lot  of  information  ?" 


304  Peter  Bosten 

"Not  at  all.  I've  been  expecting  an  onslaught  for 
some  time." 

"Well,  I've  been  trying  to  find  out  just  where  I 
stand,  and  to  put  my  thoughts  and  feelings  into  defi- 
nite form.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  finish  your  Book  of 
Ancient  America  before  speaking. 

"In  the  first  place,  Brother  Stern,  I  want  you  to 
know  that  your  San  Francisco  sermon  took  hold  of 
me  as  nothing  has  ever  done.  I  could  not  resist  the 
force  of  it,  in  spite  of  my  views  concerning  divinity. 
If  my  mind  had  been  so  shaped  in  the  beginning,  or 
so  trained  since  birth,  perhaps,  as  to  admit  of  re- 
ligious belief,  your  sermon  would  doubtless  have 
made  a  convert  of  me.  But,  although  I  marvel  at 
this  wonderful  system  of  faith  in  the  God  you  are 
representing,  and  at  the  sincerity  with  which  you 
and  so  many  of  your  people  adhere  to  it,  for  some 
reason  I  can  not  accept  it.  I  can  not  conceive  of  the 
necessity  of  baptism  by  water,  for  instance;  and 
what  you  call  'spiritual  manifestations'  bewilder  me. 

"From  the  first  time  I  met  ,Noel  Crayne,  in  the 
basement  of  your  church  at  Petit  City,  and  mingled 
with  that  earnest  congregation  of  young  and  old, 
I  felt  attracted  toward  you  all.  I  even  wished  I 
could  become  one  of  you,  without  a  sacrifice  of  logic. 
But,  somehow,  I  was  unable  to  surrender  to  this 
faith.  It  seemed  like  a  victory  of  sentiment  over 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  305 

sense.  I  could  not  conceive  of  the  Creator  of  the 
Universe  interfering  in  the  petty  concerns  of  man- 
kind. In  fact,  I  could  not  conceive  of  him  at  all. 

"Prayer  seemed  like  begging  the  question  or  ap- 
plying salve  to  the  conscience.  The  religious  world 
seemed  to  me  a  whirling  sphere  of  contradictions, 
assumptions  and  delusions.  That  your  church  repre- 
sented the  highest  form  of  religious  life,  I  believed ; 
but  that  it  was  all  it  claimed  to  be  I  could  not  be- 
lieve." 

The  speaker  paused;  and  his  companion,  with  a 
thoughtful  look,  remarked : 

"I  observe  that  you  put  all  this  in  the  past  tense." 

"Yes,"  Peter  returned  quickly;  "but  I'm  afraid — 
to  be  perfectly  honest — my  convictions  are  chronic. 
I  have  passed  through  experiences  since  then, 
Brother  Stern,  that  have  made  the  whole  world  look 
different ;  that  have  literally  killed  my  interest  in  life, 
on  this  sphere  at  least;  but  I  can't  seem  to  compre- 
hend what  you  call  this  'gospel  of  Christ*  yet.  That 
the  world  needs  regenerating,  I  admit;  but  that 
your  'plan  of  salvation'  can  effect  it,  I  am  unable  to 
believe. 

"Tell  me,  my  friend:  from  your  point  of  view 
what  is  wrong  with  me?  Do  I,  after  all,  lack  sin- 
cerity? Why  can  not  I  have  this  thing  called  Faith?" 

The  President  did  not  reply  directly  to  the  ques- 


306  Peter  Bosten 

tion.  Instead,  with  a  pensive  expression  in  his  eyes, 
he  began  to  tell  of  his  own  soul-striving,  before  he  be- 
came actively  affiliated  with  the  church. 

"The  thing  that  convinced  me  of  the  power  of 
this  gospel,  I  believe,  was  my  father's  own  life.  I 
suppose  you  know  that  I  succeeded  him  in  the  presi- 
dency of  the  church  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Kansan;  "there  aren't  many  re- 
ligious or  nonreligious  people  who  have  not  heard 
his  name  and  something  about  his  work " 

"Either  good  or  bad,"  came  the  interruption. 

"Yet  those  who  knew  him  personally  invariably 
spoke  well  of  him,"  Peter  went  on.  "In  spite  of  the 
disgrace  thrown  upon  his  name  by  those  who  were 
interested  in  doing  so,  I  believe  him  to  have  been  a 
splendid  man." 

"I  like  to  hear  that  from  a  disinterested  source," 
observed  the  other.  "It  surely  is  true.  He  was  un- 
doubtedly a  great  man,  in  the  true  sense  of  great- 
ness. .  . .  But,  as  I  was  saying,  his  life  was  the  great- 
est of  all  inspirations  to  me,  I  think.  Being,  like 
yourself,  naturally  of  a  skeptical  mind,  I  believe  I 
should  have  rejected  the  gospel,  from  a  purely  in- 
tellectual standpoint,  had  not  father's  life  gripped 
me. 

"It  was  a  peculiar  thing,  Brother  Bosten.  I  often 
look  back  upon  it  and  marvel.  I  was  a  headstrong, 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  307 

practical-minded,  pugilistic  sort  of  individual  who 
absolutely  abhorred  the  sentimental.  I  was  for  what 
is  called  'virile  life'  as  opposed  to  the  philosophic. 
The  world  to  me  was  a  place  of  intense  interest,  and 
men  who  'did  things'  were  my  little  gods.  I  had  no 
patience  with  theoretical  persons  or  schemes.  My 
great  cry  was:  'Deliver  the  goods  first  and  praise 
your  delivery  system  afterwards!' 

"For  a  long  time  I  took  no  interest  in  my  father's 
work.  His  religion  seemed  visionary  and  imprac- 
tical to  me.  In  fact,  religion  of  all  kinds  failed  to 
impress  me.  I  reveled  in  the  thought  of  universal 
evolution  wherein  progress  came  only  to  the  strong, 
the  'fittest'  to  survive.  What  constituted  'fitness'  I 
did  not  stop  to  ascertain.  I  jumped  at  the  conclusion 
that  it  was  those  attributes,  whatever  they  were,  that 
characterized  the  survivors. 

"This  theory,  as  you  can  readily  see,  involved  an 
assumption  of  the  very  point  in  question.  The  fit- 
test survived,  therefore  those  who  survived  were  the 
fittest!  Fine  logic  that.  The  definition  of  'fitness,' 
of  course,  was  ignored.  My  reason  was  swept  away 
by  my  desire  to  aggrandize  man ;  make  him  the  ar- 
biter of  his  own  fate,  the  hewer  of  his  own  niche  in 
the  universe. 

"Then,  by  and  by,  I  began  to  apply  my  theory  of 
evolution  to  my  surroundings.  I  tried  to  include 


308  Peter  Bosten 

the  men  and  women  with  whom  I  daily  associated, 
in  the  circle  of  fitness.  But  here  I  became  involved 
in  a  labyrinth  of  paradoxes  and  contradictions  that 
dizzied  me.  No  matter  how  scientifically  I  worked 
out  my  application,  I  found  the  definition  of  the 
quality  of  fitness  still  in  question.  This  was  the 
elusive  thing  for  ever  assumed. 

"Finally,  tired  of  running  around  in  a  circle,  I 
began  looking  about  me  for  a  standard  by  which  to 
judge  all  things.  It  was  clear  to  me  that  if  I  were 
to  make  any  real  advancement  I  must  have  a  cri- 
terion. I  was  a  long  while  seeing  this  truth,  but 
eventually  my  environment  showed  it  to  me. 

"But  where  was  the  standard?  In  art?  Obviously 
not.  In  science?  No ;  scientists  ignored  the  soul,  the 
'life'  of  man;  concerning  themselves  with  his  body, 
alone,  and  his  environment.  In  religion?  If  so,  in 
what  religion?  There  were  many  of  them,  each 
claiming  to  be  the  'right'  one,  and  rejecting  the 
claims  of  others. 

"Again  I  came  to  the  limits  of  my  mental  re- 
sources. I  felt  that  the  standard  I  sought  must  be 
a  moral  not  a  material  standard;  it  must  concern 
the  soul,  the  thinking,  creating  part  of  man,  for  it 
was  that,  not  brute  muscle  or  mere  intelligence,  that 
drove  him  onward  in  his  course.  But  my  mind 
seemed  incapable  of  locating  this  standard :  and  for 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  309 

a  long  time  I  proclaimed  myself  an  Agnostic.  I  de- 
clared that  no  man  knew  anything ;  that  all  his  the- 
ories were  groundless  assumptions. 

"But,  my  friend,  I  was  not  satisfied.  I  felt  a  po- 
tentiality within  me  that  cried  for  intelligent  action. 
Yet  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  pray.  Like  you,  I 
considered  prayer  an  hypocrisy. 

"Well,  this  was  my  state  of  mind  when  the  great 
conviction  of  my  life  came  to  me.  It  happened  one 
Sunday  morning  in  church,  while  my  father  was 
preaching. 

"His  subject  was  'Godly  service/  and  as  I  sat  there 
listening  to  him  a  great  mist  rolled  away  from  be- 
fore my  eyes.  I  saw  the  human  family  from  the 
beginning,  it  seemed ;  ever  striving  for  a  Something 
which  they  did  not  comprehend  but  yearned  for 
nevertheless.  Their  hands  were  outstretched  toward 
the  skies  and  they  all  seemed  to  be  gazing  upward. 
But  as  I  looked  closer  I  found  my  mistake.  The 
outstretched  hands  and  the  staring  eyes  had  for  their 
object  the  material  possessions  of  this  mean  earth. 
I  s^w  greed,  confusion,  hatred,  murder, — endless 
strife. 

"And  then  a  Figure  arose  whom  my  soul  recog- 
nized as  the  Savior  of  Men.  He  walked  amid  the 
fighting  multitude,  crying  peace,  lifting  up  those  that 


310  Peter  Bosten 

fell  in  the  strife,  sacrificing  his  own  life  in  the  serv- 
ice of  his  fellow  creatures. 

"It  was  enough.  I  had  found  my  standard :  it  was 
Christlike  service.  Nothing  else  counted;  nothing 
else  mattered. 

"I  reviewed  my  father's  own  life.  It  had  been  one 
of  self-abnegation,  of  love  for  his  fellow  men  and 
service  toward  them.  His  eyes  were  ever  turned 
away  from  the  material  things.  He  seemed  to  see 
only  human  need  and  human  woes ;  and  with  all  his 
great  soul  strove  to  fulfill  the  one  and  ameliorate  the 
other. 

"I  went  home  from  church  to  my  room  and  prayed 
to  God  for  courage  and  strength.  I  prayed  for  faith, 
too,  my  friend!  And  do  you  know  why?  My  brain 
told  me  it  was  an  illogical  act,  according  to  human 
standards.  But  had  I  not  renounced  these  standards 
and  chosen  the  divine?  Yes:  and  herein  was  my  re- 
generation, my  salvation.  I  realized  that  the  ob- 
struction to  faith  had  been  my  own  selfishness.  In 
my  egotism  I  had  been  blind :  but  in  his  mercy  God 
opened  my  eyes. 

"The  secret,  Brother  Bosten,  lies  in  humility.  This 
is  my  message  to  you !  the  one  I  have  longed  to  im- 
part. The  message  that  Jesus  Christ  brought  to  the 
world;  the  plan  of  salvation,  whereby  all  men  may 
rise  to  a  nobler  status  of  life.  They  may  go  their 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  311 

human  ways  here,  mighty  in  their  own  conceit;  but 
when  this  mortal  life  is  done  and  they  face  the  Truth 
beyond,  the  realization  of  failure  will  be  bound  to 
come.  And  while  the  Scriptures,  in  their  fullness, 
as  I  understand  them,  do  not  point  to  any  such  illog- 
ical hell  as  you  and  I  have  heard  preached;  never- 
theless I  believe  they  make  it  clear  that  men  shall 
'reap  what  they  have  sown/  This  ought  to  be  a 
sufficiently  illuminating  intimation  to  the  sincere, 
intelligent  soul." 

The  Kansan's  attitude  invited  further  speech. 

"And  let  me  say,  my  brother,"  the  speaker  finished, 
"that  in  this  fact  of  reaping  what  is  sown,  of  re- 
ward according  to  works,  lies,  as  I  view  it,  the  prin- 
ciple of  true  human  progress.  There  is  no  true  evo- 
lution not  comprehended  in  the  gospel  of  Christ. 
The  trouble  with  your  earthly  systems  is  that  they 
ignore  the  moral,  the  spiritual,  the  godly  considera- 
tion. They  are,  in  fact,  but  human  imitations  of  the 
divine. 

"Geologists  and  biologists  may  dig  and  delve 
throughout  all  time ;  but  unless  the  alleged  facts  they 
uncover  correspond  with  Truth— -which  never  ig- 
nores spiritual  obligations — they  are  worthless  for 
the  guidance  of  mankind.  They  are  not  facts  at  all, 
but  vain  and  harmful  theories." 


312  Peter  Bosten 

As  was  his  habit,  Mr.  Stern  came  to  an  abrupt  con- 
clusion. 

But  the  agnostic  did  not  seem  to  realize  that  a  con- 
clusion had  been  reached.  He  sat  submerged  in 
thought.  His  companion,  however,  did  not  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  silence  to  continue  speaking.  Instead, 
he  picked  up  a  magazine  on  mechanics  (electricity 
being  one  of  his  hobbies)  and  was  soon  lost  in  it. 

This  move,  Peter  knew,  was  not  a  tactical  one.  It 
was  perfectly  in  harmony  with  Stern's  nature  to 
present  a  matter  as  forcefully  as  possible  and  leave 
it  at  that.  Nor  could  any  method  of  argument  have 
carried  more  weight  with  the  Kansan. 

Stern  had  done  what  few  eminent  theologians  ever 
do:  given  a  questioner  credit  for  possessing  com- 
mon intelligence.  He  had  placed  the  free-thinking 
writer  on  equal  spiritual  and  intellectual  terms  with 
himself,  then  presented  his  case  without  the  usual 
assumptions  and  admonitions. 

The  Kansan  once  again  reviewed  his  life  experi- 
ences, recalling  the  theories  and  practices  of  such 
individuals  as  the  Ladner  editor;  applying  Stern's 
test  of  truth  to  things  of  earth,  including  men  and 
their  doings:  and  there  came  to  his  soul  a  partial 
conviction  that  at  last  he  had  encountered  something 
irrefutable,  strong  and  sure. 

Here,  it  seemed,  was  a  dream  that  was  logical !    A 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  313 

dream  incomprehensible  to  the  "carnal  man" ;  intel- 
ligible only  to  the  soul  that  had  learned,  through 
suffering,  to  crave  what  was  above  earth. 

Peter  imagined  the  whole  world  accepting  this 
"plan  of  salvation."  Such  a  thing  was  not  incon- 
ceivable, though  highly  improbable.  He  saw  all  the 
mean  types  of  men  submitting  to  it ;  forgetting  their 
selfish  quests  and  going  in  search  of  salvation.  He 
saw  them  bend  the  knee,  in  humility,  before  a  Power 
they  yearned  to  comprehend;  not  that  they  might 
flatter  and  coax  him,  but  that  they  might  learn  of 
him. 

Here  was  the  logical  reason  for  prayer.  It  sub- 
jected the  carnal  mind  to  spiritual  law.  The  sup- 
plicant himself  profited  by  the  submission  of  his  de- 
sires to  the  divine — not  the  God  he  supplicated. 

Peter  realized  that  his  own  reasoning  had  been  at 
fault.  And  why?  Because  it  was  the  outcome  of 
selfish  thought.  His  mind  had  been  working  against 
the  Mind  of  the  Universe. 

It  all  seemed  perfectly  clear  to  him  now.  In  spite 
of  his  sincerity  of  purpose  he  had  been  misguided  by 
his  Ego. 

Sincerity.  He  had  once  considered  it  the  touch- 
stone to  honesty  and  truth.  Ah,  and  so  it  was !  But 
how  to  define  "sincerity"?  There  were  various 
brands,  only  one  of  which  was  genuine.  To  avail 


314  Peter  Bosten 

anything,  sincerity  must  correspond  with  Truth. 
The  zeal  of  the  heathen  mother  who  cast  her  infant 
into  the  flames — was  there  anything  beautiful,  en- 
nobling about  it?  According  to  earthly  standards 
it  might  be  considered  "heroic,"  even  "noble."  But 
were  not  "earthly  standards"  the  strongest  factors 
in  retarding  true  human  evolution?  Undoubtedly. 
What  the  world  needed  was  the  standard  of  the  Fig- 
ure in  White,  who  "went  about  doing  good."  He,  in 
very  truth,  was  the  "way  and  the  life."  In  Him  lay 
the  explanation  of  all  things. 

Even  as  the  thought  entered  his  brain,  Peter  real- 
ized that  he  had  never  disposed  of  the  "Man  Christ 
Jesus"  to  his  own  satisfaction.  This  being  had  al- 
ways haunted  him  in  his  most  solemn  moments.  .  .  . 

Whence  had  come  that  vision  of  Madison  Square 
Garden?  Had  it  been  sent  to  him  from  heaven  for 
his  guidance?  If  so,  how  was  it  he  had  been  able  to 
throw  it  off  his  mind  ?  And  why  did  not  such  visions 
come  to  all  soul-strivers?  There  must  be  countless 
honest,  thirsting  mortals  on  earth. 

How  about  the  Buddhists  and  Mohammedans  and 
their  yearnings  after  the  truth?  How  about  their 
leaders,  indeed— <-men  who  had  performed  great  deeds 
and  blessed  millions  of  lives?  Why  had  not  Christ, 
if  he  were  the  Son  of  the  only  true  and  living  God, 
appeared  to  them  as  well  as  the  Jews? 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  315 

What  of  all  this  religious  strife?  Stern's  church 
was  not  the  only  one  claiming  to  represent  Christ. 
If  his  were  in  reality  the  true  one,  what  about  the 
others  ?  Christianity  as  a  whole  was  narrow  enough : 
it  excluded  billions  of  "heathen."  But  how  about 
this  one  little  phase  of  Christianity,  which  excluded 
all  but  a  hundred  thousand  souls? 

Peter  put  the  question  up  to  his  companion,  im- 
pulsively. 

"  'Strait  is  the  gate  and  narrow  is  the  way  and  few 
there  be  that  find  it/  "  quoted  the  latter.  "Did  not 
the  Master  himself  have  but  few  followers?" 

"Yes, — according  to  the  Bible  he  did.  But  why? 
How  do  you  account  for  it?  Does  it  sound  reason- 
able, in  the  light  of  his  great  claims?  Why  should 
he  confine  his  services  to  a  mere  handful  of  people?" 

Mr.  Stern  smiled,  with  the  same  sympathetic  light 
in  his  eyes  that  Peter  had  seen  in  Freely 's,  that  day 
at  the  New  Jersey  reunion ;  and  the  Kansan  was  con- 
scious of  resenting  it,  now  as  then. 

"Human  reason  can  not  fathom  divine  mysteries," 
came  the  reply.  "Faith  is  not  knowledge.  'Now  we 
see  through  a  glass  darkly/  but  in  the  Beyond  we 
'shall  see  face  to  face/  We  must  believe,  first  of  all. 
There  is  no  substitute  for  faith,  my  friend." 

Peter  did  not  reply.    Stern's  answer  chilled  him. 

The  enthusiasm  that  had  accompanied  the  Presi- 


316  Peter  Bosten 

dent's  personal  testimony  and  immediately  followed 
it,  was  fast  disappearing  in  the  skeptic's  heart ;  and 
pouring  in  upon  him  came  the  old  flood  of  doubts. 

At  last,  his  head  bursting  and  his  soul  sick  of  the 
struggle,  Peter  faced  his  companion  with  a  strange 
light  in  his  eyes  and  cried : 

"There  is  only  one  hell  and  that  is  Ignorance !  I 
would  gladly  writhe  in  the  bottomless  pit,  condemned 
to  a  term  of  diabolical  torment,  if  only  I  knew  that 
when  my  suffering  had  an  end  I  should  find  knowl- 
edge." 

With  that  the  Kansan  abruptly  left  his  friend's 
presence  and  persuaded  the  porter  to  make  him  up  a 
berth. 

Doubling  his  usual  portion  of  asperin  he  lay  down 
to  sleep  and  determinedly  closed  his  mind  against 
thought ;  the  while  President  Stern  prayed  earnestly 
in  his  seat. 

Two  days  later,  at  the  same  hour,  Noel  Crayne 
and  his  wife  sat  talking  in  the  kitchen  of  their  little 
Iowa  home. 

"I  don't  think  there's  any  use  of  inviting  anyone, 
dear,"  the  Missourian  was  saying,  "until  he's  finished 
his  book.  You  know  what  a  state  of  mind  he  is  in — 
or  do  you,  I  wonder?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  understand  him  fairly  well,  Noel. 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  317 

Poor  Peter  is  an  artist,  by  nature,  so  why  shouldn't 
I  understand  him?" 

He  smiled  in  recognition  of  the  complimentary  in- 
ference. 

"That's  right,  I  guess.  He  works  like  a  madman. 
Do  you  know,  Jessie,  I  fancy  he  is  taking  something." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Well,  he  is  not  himself.  He  is  not  the  Peter  I 
knew  of  old.  His  moods  are  irritable,  his  mind  is 
distraught,  and  his  eyes  seem  to  be  gazing  afar  off 
all  the  time." 

The  Missourian's  voice  was  not  quite  steady.  Jes- 
sie moved  over  toward  him  and  patted  his  cheek. 

"You  mustn't  worry  about  it,  Noel.  This  spasm 
will  pass.  Tell  me,  how  long  do  you  think  it  will  take 
him  to  complete  the  story?" 

"It's  hard  to  say,  dear.  But  judging  by  the  way  he 
has  started  off  I  should  say  not  long.  It's  a  question 
in  my  mind  whether  his  nerves  will  stand  it.  Why, 
as  you  know,  he  scarcely  eats  anything.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  coffee  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to 
coax  him  down  to  the  table  at  all. 

"It  all  seems  so  strange  to  me,"  he  went  on,  pen- 
sively. "His  coming  here  as  Milton's  secretary  so 
unexpectedly ;  asking  for  a  two  weeks'  holiday  pre- 
sumably to  rest  up,  and  then  going  desperately  to 
work  like  this." 


318  Peter  Bosten 

"Maybe,"  she  ventured,  "he  wants  to  get  it  done 
before  Conference." 

"Before  Conference?"  said  Noel.  "Why,  Jessie, 
at  the  rate  he's  going  it  won't  take  him  two  weeks. 
He's  turning  out  first-class  copy  at  the  rate  of  a 
thousand  words  an  hour.  He's  actually  got  three 
chapters  finished  since  yesterday  morning.  On  the 
basis  of  the  average  novel,  the  thing  will  only  take 
him  about  seventy  or  eighty  hours.  But  I  can't  con- 
ceive of  his  keeping  up  this  pace  for  a  solid  week. 
However  the  approach  of  conference  may  have 
some  bearing  on  his  haste,  as  you  suggest.  It 
wouldn't  surprise  me  to  learn  that  he  even  figures 
on  publication  before  April  the  first." 

Jessie  shook  her  head  skeptically. 

"That  would  be  an  unheard-of  feat  in  novel  pub- 
lishing— at  least  for  our  Banner  Office.  I  presume 
he  will  give  them  first  chance  with  the  manuscript?" 

"The  Banner"  plant  was  the  pride  of  Le  Bois. 

"Oh,  yes.  He  is  writing  it  expressly  for  them,  I 
think.  You  know,  dear,  if  I  really  made  up  my  mind 
to  boss  him  I  could  bring  him,  to  some  extent,  out  of 
his  daze.  Once  or  twice  to-day  I  interrupted  him 
with  malice  aforethought,  Muse  or  no  Muse ;  but,  do 
you  know,  I  half  regretted  it  when  he  looked  at  me 
with  those  questioning  eyes  of  his,  as  though  won- 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  319 

dering  why  I  interfered,  begging  me  to  leave  him 
alone  just  for  a  little  while." 

The  bishop's  niece  played  with  a  stray  wisp  of 
black  hair. 

"It's  queer,"  she  observed,  philosophically,  "but 
you  men  of  genius  never  seem  to  understand  each 
other.  It  takes  a  practical  old  thing  like  me  to  do  it, 
after  all.  Now,  Noel,  like  a  good  boy  just  forget 
Peter  and  leave  him  alone.  The  harder  he  works 
the  sooner  he  will  be  done.  I'll  personally  see  that  he 
doesn't  starve.  By  the  way,  did  you  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  part  he  has  already  finished?" 

Noel  laughed,  in  his  rumbling  bass,  under  the  spell 
of  his  young  wife's  soothing  words. 

"Is  it  feminine  curiosity?"  he  asked,  "or  literary 
interest?" 

"A  little  of  both,"  she  answered,  truthfully. 

"Then,  since  you're  so  honest,  I'll  tell  you.  When 
he  wasn't  paying  any  attention  whatever  to  me,  I 
picked  up  the  first  sheet  of  his  manuscript  and  read 
it;  and  while  I  could  not  tell  from  that  just  how  he 
would  treat  his  subject,  or,  in  fact,  exactly  what  the 
subject  was,  I  recognized  a  certain  spirit,  which,  if 
he  carries  it  through,  will  make  the  story  strong. 
Probably  you're  right  in  urging  me  to  leave  him 
alone,  dear.  But  it's  hard  to  see  dear  old  Peter  kill- 
ing himself  by  inches." 


320  Peter  Bosten 

A  pinch  punished  him  for  this. 

"Don't  you  go  falling  in  love  with  him  again,"  she 
warned.  "He  used  to  take  you  away  from  me  more 
than  I  liked,  once  upon  a  time — although  I  never  said 
anything.  But  now  I  claim  the  major  part." 

The  Missourian  rebuked  her  in  looks  if  not  in 
words  for  this  remark ;  but  neglected  to  make  a  con- 
fession involving  stray  affections,  which  he  had  often 
been  on  the  verge  of  making,  but  could  never  quite 
seem  to  find  a  strong  enough  motive  for  so  doing. 
The  old  adage  about  ignorance  and  bliss  invariably 
carried  weight  with  him  while  wavering  over  this 
matter.  Yet,  he  knew  he  would  tell  her,  sometime. 

"It's  rather  phenomenal,  when  you  think  of  it/' 
Jessie  observed,  smoothing  down  the  wisp  of  hair  she 
had  been  twisting;  "this  sudden  impulse  of  Peter's 
to  write  a  novel  along  the  lines  of  our  faith.  How 
do  you  explain  it,  Noel?" 

"I  can't,  dear.  There  is  no  explaining  Peter,  in 
anything  he  does,  as  a  rule.  Possibly  he  just  sees  a 
theme  capable  of  original,  forceful  treatment.  It 
may  be  the  artistic  faculty,  alone.  Then  again,  God's 
Spirit  may  be  at  work.  It  is  hard  to  say.  We  are 
all  speculators,  aren't  we,  when  it  comes  down  to  the 
deeper  meanings  of  life?" 

"We  would  be,"  she  corrected,  "if  it  were  not  for 
the  enlightenment  of  the  gospel." 


The  Why  and  Wherefore  321 

"Of  course,"  he  returned.  And  smilingly, — "You 
shouldn't  make  a  skeptic  of  me  on  such  small  provo- 
cation. I  was  thinking  from  a  purely  human  point 
of  view  when  I  spoke." 

"I  understand — silly!  Do  you  know,  I  believe  I 
have  it.  He  didn't  decide  to  take  a  vacation  until  the 
night  before  last,  did  he?" 

Noel  nodded  in  agreement. 

"And  he  gossiped  with  us  all  the  afternoon  he 
arrived,  didn't  he?" 

"Go  on,"  said  the  Missourian,  "I'll  agree  to  every- 
thing you  say — to  save  time." 

"Thank  you.  Well,  he  talked  quite  like  his  old 
self  for  a  while  after  arriving.  His  gaze  was  fo- 
cused on  us  and  the  room  at  first.  But  gradually,  as 
we  related  the  changes  that  had  taken  place  in  five 
years :  your  marriage  and  appointment  as  assistant 
pastor  to  the  Le  Bois  Branch ;  the  advancement  made 
in  college  and  the  church  by  Allan  Leader ;  the  great 
change  in  Adele  Cressy,  and  her  growing  attachment 
for  Allan:  he  seemed  to  lose  himself  in  a  sort  of 
dream.  I  believe,  Noel,  that  he  was  then  beginning 
to  conceive  this  story  he  has  so  impulsively  begun." 

She  looked  into  the  Missourian's  eyes  for  en- 
couragement, and  must  have  found  it,  for  she  con- 
tinued: 

"He  was  distraught  at  supper,  and  afterwards  he 


322  Peter  Bosten 

went  over  to  where  Brother  Stern  is  staying  and  se- 
cured his  leave  of  absence  from  duty.  Then,  bright 
and  early  next  morning — yesterday,  he  set  to  work. 
. . .  Listen,  you  can  hear  the  tapping  of  his  typewriter 
at  this  moment." 

"Yes,"  said  Noel,  after  a  silence,  "the  dear  old 
fellow  is  killing  himself." 

Another  pause  followed  this  remark,  after  which 
Jessie  continued  to  perplex  her  already  puzzled  hus- 
band. 

"How  do  you  account  for  his  indifference  to  men- 
tion of  Helen  Dyke's  name?  When  I  hinted  that  she 
was  still  unmarried  he  only  lapsed  a  little  further 
into  his  dream." 

"Which,"  added  the  Missourian  thoughtfully, 
"may  mean  far  more  than  you  or  I  can  guess." 


"The  Way  of  Faith"  323 

CHAPTER  XIX 

"THE  WAY  OF  FAITH" 

THE  MANAGER  of  The  Banner  of  Truth,  whom 
everyone  knew  as  such  an  active  man,  sat  dreaming 
at  his  desk.  How  long  he  would  have  continued  to 
ignore  the  heap  of  papers  before  him,  had  he  not  been 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  friend,  even  the 
office  boy  could  not  have  conjectured. 

"Hello,  Brother  Stern,"  he  greeted,  coming  out  of 
his  musing.  "How  are  you  this  morning?" 

It  was  Adam,  not  Milton  Stern  who  had  come  in. 

"Fine,  thank  you,  Brother  Carr.  I  just  dropped  in 
to  learn  something  about  the  religious  romance 
which  rumor  says  lies  here  in  this  office.  I  under- 
stand Noel  Crayne's  friend,  Bosten,  wrote  it?" 

"Yes.    Do  you  know  him  personally?" 

"No.  I  met  him  just  the  other  day,  but  we  had  no 
opportunity  of  getting  acquainted.  Poor  chap  is 
pretty  sick  this  morning,  I  understand.  It  seems  he 
finished  his  book  in  ten  days,  revisions  and  all; 
which,  if  it's  a  fact,  doubtless  explains  the  strong 
nervous  reaction  he's  having." 

Mr.  Carr  stroked  his  sandy  Vandyke. 

"I  can't  get  over  it,  myself,  Adam.  If  the  thing 
were  void  of  thought,  lacked  soul  and  showed  signs 


324  Peter  Bosten 

of  merely  mechanical  construction,  I  might  under- 
stand it.  But  there  is  real  life  in  the  story ;  real  soul- 
yearnings.  From  the  standpoint  of  cultured  writ- 
ings, of  course,  it  is  not  'literature.'  But,  to  me,  it 
is  something  more.  It  portrays  life  truthfully,  and 
these  mortal  thoughts  passionately." 

Adam  Stern's  countenance  brightened. 

"This  is  good  news,  Alex.  Especially  will  it  be  so 
to  Noel.  Since  the  completion  of  the  story  it's  he 
that's  been  in  suspense.  The  author  himself  is  en- 
tirely nonchalant.  He  refuses  to  even  talk  about  it. 
All  he  wants  to  do  is  sleep  and  rest." 

The  manager  pressed  a  buzzer,  and  the  office  boy,  a 
typical  member  of  his  craft,  entered. 

"Dicky,  will  you  ask  the  foreman  to  step  here, 
please?" 

After  transferring  his  gum  from  one  locality, 
within  his  capacious  mouth,  to  another  and  grinning 
in  acknowledgment  of  the  visitor's  smile,  "Dicky" 
saw  fit  to  obey. 

"Burton,"  asked  Carr,  when  the  printer  stood  be- 
fore him,  "are  both  of  the  linotypes  loaded  up?" 

"No,  sir.    I  think  not." 

"How  long  would  it  take  you  to  set  up  about  ninety 
galleys  of  good  typewritten  copy,  in  ten-point  double 
leaded — by  speeding  up  the  men  and  working  both 
machines?" 


"The  Way  of  Faith"  325 

The  printer  scratched  his  head. 

"I  reckon  about  twenty-four  hours,  Mr.  Carr." 

"Very  well.  Clear  for  action  right  away.  I'll  have 
you  some  of  the  manuscript  in  a  few  minutes." 
Turning  to  Stern.  "My  idea,  Adam,  is  to  make  up 
about  a  hundred  dummies,  of  uncorrected  proof  if 
necessary,  and  distribute  them  around  at  Conference 
time.  In  this  way  I  can  ascertain  the  selling  possi- 
bilities of  the  book  and  the  size  of  the  edition  I  ought 
to  undertake." 

"Besides,"  smiled  the  other,  "getting  a  lot  of  fun 
out  of  the  thing." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  hearing  the  verdicts  of  various  minds.  Of 
course,  I  haven't  read  the  story  yet ;  but  if  it  deals 
with  church  people  and  ideals,  we  are  not  guessing 
when  we  forecast  philosophical,  if  not  gladiatorial, 
combats." 

They  laughed  together,  perhaps  not  so  much  over 
the  remark,  as  over  memories  of  many  a  Conference 
business  session. 

"What  do  you  say,"  asked  Stern,  "if  I  take  a  day 
off,  myself,  and  read  the  thing — sit  right  down  here 
and  go  through  each  chapter  before  the  linotypist 
gets  it?" 

"Good  idea !"  cried  Carr,  enthusiastically.  "You'll 
probably  think  it  arbitrary  of  me  not  to  have  sug- 


326  Peter  Bosten 

gested  such  a  thing  myself?  But,  you  see,  there  will 
be  opportunity  for  revising  the  story  later  on,  any- 
way; and  I  certainly  did  not  intend  ignoring  either 
you  or  Milton." 

But  already  Adam  Stern  was  oblivious  of  his  sur- 
roundings. He  seemed  not  to  hear  the  manager's  re- 
mark. With  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  his 
chair  leaning  against  the  wall,  he  was  sinking  into 
the  story. 

Six  hours  later  the  manager  came  in  from  an  ex- 
ceptionally late  lunch  and  found  his  friend  and 
brother  still  reading  The  Way  of  Faith. 

"What,"  he  said,  "haven't  you  eaten  anything, 
Adam?" 

The  reader  shook  his  head,  drew  a  hand  across  his 
eyes,  yawned  and  replied: 

"Your  carnal  mind  shocks  me,  Alex.  I'll  go  out 
presently." 

However,  he  remained  there  two  hours  after  that 
— until  he  had  finished  the  manuscript.  Then  he 
rose,  yawned  again  and  stretched  himself.  Carr 
glanced  at  him  with  a  humorous  glint  in  his  eye. 

"If  I'd  stopped  to  reflect  that  you  were  an  author 
and  poet  yourself,"  he  remarked,  "dipped  in  the 
flame  like  the  rest  of  them,  I  might  have  ordered  an 
easy  chair  sent  up  here.  .  .  .  But  come,  I'm  anxious  to 


"The  Way  of  Faith"  327 

have  your  opinion :  please  don't  keep  me  in  suspense 
like  this." 

Mr.  Stern  sat  down  again,  and  faced  the  manager. 

"I  can  say  this  much,  Brother  Carr:  The  story  is 
about  you  and  me,  and  therefore  it  can  not  fail  to 
interest  us.  I  took  upon  myself  the  soul  of  the  Ag- 
nostic character  as  I  proceeded.  Most  of  us  know 
him,  I  guess,  down  in  our  being.  Yes,  I  liked  it. 
Nothing  quite  like  it  has  been  written,  so  far  as  I 
know.  Members  of  the  church  will  read  it,  un- 
doubtedly. But  whether  you  will  make  money  out  of 
it  or  not  is  a  different  matter.  Only  sincere  minds 
will  take  to  it.  It  is  not  a  story  for  what  we  call  'sum- 
mer reading/  You  are  doing  the  wise  thing,  I  think, 
in  making  up  these  dummies. 

"I  like  it  best,  I  believe,  because  it  strengthens  one 
in  the  conviction  that  after  all  the  influence  of  a 
man's  daily  life  is  the  big  factor  in  advertising  Jesus 
Christ.  We  may  preach  ourselves  hoarse  and  cry 
4 Faith'  until  our  hearers  are  deaf;  but  unless  we 
show  what  the  gospel  has  done  in  our  own  lives,  we 
accomplish  nothing,  we  degrade  our  message,  our- 
selves and  our  Maker. 

"This  skeptic- writer  has  accomplished  a  work 
worth  while ;  yes,  I  feel  sure  he  has.  It  may  not  meet 
with  the  approval  of  everybody;  but  it  meets  with 
my  approval  at  least.  There  is  a  breadth  of  vision  in 


328  Peter  Bosten 

it,  just  as  there  is  a  depth  of  ignorance,  and  the  con- 
trast proves  humanly,  nay  spiritually,  interesting." 

Carr  smiled,  pleased. 

"What  do  you  think,"  he  asked,  guiltily,  "of  the 
words  he  puts  into  your  own  mouth?" 

"Mine?" 

"Yes;  don't  you  recognize  yourself  in  the  story?" 

Stern  smiled  peculiarly. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  answered,  "for  a  publisher  your 
literary  perception  is  most  inartistic.  If  you  can  go 
literalizing  the  characters  and  situations  of  Mr. 
Bosten's  story  like  this,  right  on  the  start — you,  the 
official  acceptor  of  the  story, — I  fear  to  reflect 
upon  the  possibilities  of  perversion  elsewhere.  Some 
guilty  soul  will  find  himself  in  the  character  of  the 
villain,  and  go  in  search  of  the  author  with  a  club." 

Carr  laughed  to  himself,  as  he  wrote  a  memo  and 
listened  to  his  friend's  evasion. 

"I  am  thinking,"  he  observed,  pausing  between 
phrases  to  give  some  attention  to  his  work,  "that 
one  of  the  benefits  accruing  from  the  publication  of 
this  story  will  be,  as  you  have  hinted,  that  of  sug- 
gesting the  acquisition  of  a  little  artistic  as  well  as 
spiritual  understanding.  Sometimes,  I'm  afraid, 
our  people  get  the  two  confused." 

"Very  true,"  returned  Stern.  "I  had  the  same 
thought  when  I  spoke,  but  neglected  to  phrase  it. 


"The  Way  of  Faith"  329 

We  should  be  very  diffident  in  the  presence  of  a 
publisher,  anyway." 

Carr  looked  up  comically. 

"With  that  piece  of  sarcasm  I  suppose  you'll  be- 
take yourself  off?" 

"Bef  ore  it's  reciprocated,  Alex,  I  reckon  I'd  better." 
He  walked  toward  the  door  but  there  he  turned  and 
remarked :  "I'll  see  that  your  remains  are  given  the 
proper  attention,  after  the  Conference  gets  through 
with  your  dummies." 

A  low  but  hearty  laugh  reechoed  from  without,  a 
moment  later;  but  the  manager's  ears  being  filled 
with  a  similar  sound  of  his  own,  he  was  scarcely 
aware  of  it. 


"Brother  President!" 

"Brother  Fraser." 

"I  rise  to  move  that  the  book  entitled  The  Way  of 
Faith,  samples  of  which  have  been  distributed  among 
many  of  us  here,  be  recommended  for  publication  by 
this  Conference  and  that  the  Banner  manager  be  em- 
powered to  preface  such  indorsation  in  the  book  it- 
self." 

"Brother  President,  I  second  the  motion!"  cried 
another — Murdoch,  the  Scotch-Canadian,  no  less. 

And  then  the  storm  began. 


330  Peter  Bosten 

It  was  the  third  business  session  of  the  Conference. 

Several  missionaries  tried  to  talk  simultaneously, 
but  they  were  drowned  out  by  the  President's  gavel ; 
and  Roland  Fraser  obtained  the  floor. 

"My  reasons  for  making  the  motion  I  have  made, 
Mr.  President  and  brothers  and  sisters,  are  these :  I 
have  read  the  book  in  question  and  believe  it  is  of 
such  a  nature  as  to  interest  thinking  people.  Those 
who  read  it  will,  I  believe,  be  struck  with  the  reality 
of  its  characters  and  psychological  situations;  and 
they  will,  to  say  the  least,  be  curious  to  know  some- 
thing of  the  church  about  which  it  tells.  I  am  a 
believer  in  the  right  kind  of  advertising;  and  this 
story,  it  seems  to  me,  is  that  kind.  It  is  my  opinion 
that  if  every  sincere  believer  in  God  could  appre- 
ciate the  breadth  of  our  teachings  and  feel  the  spirit 
that  prompts  us,  there  would  be  a  great  influx  into 
the  church  of  Christ. 

"The  story  truly  represents  the  highest  ideals  of 
human,  nay  spiritual  life;  by  combining  art  with 
integrity  the  author  has  painted  a  picture  which  all 
of  us  may  do  well  to  study,  and  which  I  can  not,  my- 
self, help  but  admire.  I  heartily  indorse  the  publi- 
cation of  The  Way  of  Faith." 

"Brother  President!" 

"Yes,  Brother  Gibson?" 

"I  want  to  express  myself  as  unfavorable  to  the 


"The  Way  of  Faith"  331 

book  in  question."  The  speaker  was  obviously  not  a 
missionary.  He  wore  a  light-tweed  suit,  a  bright  tie 
decorated  with  a  diamond  pin,  and  other  articles  of 
dress  indicative  of  prosperous  business  life.  "In  the 
first  place  this  story  has  been  written  by  a  nonmem- 
ber  and  a  nonbeliever  in  God.  I  have  read  one  of  the 
dummies  and  have  taken  the  trouble  to  find  out  some- 
thing about  the  author.  He  is,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
sick  in  bed  at  this  moment ;  but  I  understand  he  has 
rejected  the  gospel  for  years,  and  therefore  I  can  not 
believe  he  has  been  guided  by  the  Spirit  in  his  work. 
It  seems  to  me  this  church  should  confine  itself  to 
spiritual  publications.  If  we  want  fiction,  let  us  pick 
up  a  volume  of  Charles  Dickens,  who  was  the  high- 
est exponent  of  purely  humanitarian  ideals.  More- 
over, I  believe  The  Way  of  Faith  hits  at  certain  in- 
dividuals in  this  church  who  are  doing  their  best. 
Because  a  man  succeeds  in  business  he  must  not  be 
considered  dishonest  and  hypocritical.  There  is  a 
certain  member  of  this  church,  a  friend  of  mine  in 
the  East,  whom  I  believe  has  been  dealt  with  too 
severely ;  and  let  me  say  frankly  that  I  read  in  this 
story  we  are  discussing  a  misrepresentation  of  that 
very  man. 

"I  want  to  see  this  motion  defeated.  The  book  is 
not  literature.  It  is  clumsily  written,  and  it  ends 
absurdly.  The  best  modern  writers  are  in  favor  of 


332  Peter  Bosten 

the  happy  ending,  and,  personally,  I  can  not  tolerate 
a  story  that  terminates  otherwise.  Let  me  urge  my 
brothers  and  sisters  to  vote  against  the  publication 
of  a  novel  that  is  not  a  novel,  and  a  sermon  from  an 
infidel." 

At  least  twenty  fiery-eyed  men,  most  of  them  in 
missionary  garb,  jumped  to  their  feet  at  the  word 
"Infidel."  A  broad  grin  overspread  President 
Stern's  face,  as  he  endeavored  to  differentiate  the 
many  "Brother  Presidents"  hurled  at  him. 

"I  think/'  he  said,  "I  am  obliged  to  recognize 
Brother  Murdoch." 

The  Scotch-Canadian  acknowledged  his  gratitude 
with  a  bow,  and  turning  toward  the  last  speaker,  be- 
gan: 

"The  worthy  brother's  chief  objection  seems  to  be 
that  there  is  not  a  happy  ending  to  the  story.  At 
least,  I  take  ft  that  that  is  the  chief  stumblingblock 
to  him.  He  would  taste  sugar  under  his  tongue  at 
the  finish ;  hear  the  echo  of  the  old  refrain,  ' Je  vous 
aime' ;  'Ich  liebe  dich' ;  and  so  on.  But  let  me  submit, 
brothers  and  sisters,  that  the  true  novelist  does  not 
deceive  his  readers.  Dickens  was  a  great  writer, 
but  he  threw  his  magic  web  over  many  stern  realities 
which  we  would  do  well  to  face  and  endeavor  to  re- 
form. For  instance,  he  treated  the  matter  of  in- 


"The  Way  of  Faith"  333 

temperance  lightly,  throwing  a  glamor  around  the 
tippler's  life. 

"Our  fellow  countryman  here  who  lies  sick  as  a 
result  of  his  labor,  Brother  Bosten — I  call  him 
'Brother'  unhesitatingly,  for  though  he  may  not  have 
joined  the  church  and  may  not  see  as  we  do,  I  con- 
sider him  a  sincere  and  noble  character.  Whatever  his 
lot  may  be  Hereafter;  whatever  his  actions  may  be 
during  the  remainder  of  his  life  on  earth,  indeed :  I 
consider  that  he  has  accomplished  a  work  that  will 
last ;  one  that  will  bring  forth  good  fruits.  Does  my 
worthy  brother  over  here  suppose  that  good  can 
come  only  out  of  Zion?  Does  he  suppose  that  only 
those  of  us  who  have  a  certain  brand  of  faith,  can  do 
the  world's  and  God's  work?  I  speak  of  different 
'brands  of  faith/  because  that  is  exactly  what  I 
mean.  In  this  matter  of  divine  realization  many  of 
us  deceive  ourselves.  Our  claims,  our  pretentions 
are  belied  by  our  deeds. 

"But  back  to  the  happy  ending.  I  thank  the  author 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  the  honest  manner 
in  which  he  brought  about  his  climax.  There  was 
no  self-deception  in  it;  there  were  no  false  lights. 
He  did  not  make  his  Agnostic  accept  faith  on  the 
impulse,  for  the  sake  of  dramatic  effect.  Not  being 
able  to  conceive  of  the  miraculous,  he  left  miracles 


334  Peter  Bosten 

alone.  For  this  I  admire  him.  Few  of  us  would  have 
been  so  honest-minded. 

"Like  my  worthy  brother  here,  I  regret  that  the 
leading  character  of  the  story  was  not  converted  to 
faith  in  God.  But  I  could  not  help  but  feel  that  the 
author  made  him  do  the  natural  thing.  His  story, 
after  all,  is  about  men — not  angels.  Some  of  us  win 
in  this  soul-striving  of  ours  and  others  lose.  But 
whether  or  not  the  losers  shall  be  behind  us,  in  the 
great  evolution,  a  thousand  years  from  now,  is  a 
problem  you  and  I  can  not  solve. 

"Reference  has  been  made  to  an  individual,  for- 
merly a  church  member,  about  whom  I  happen  to 
know  considerable.  I  believe,  like  the  last  speaker, 
that  he  is  caricatured  in  the  story.  And  so  he  ought 
to  be.  Any  man  who  robs  widows  and  orphans  as 
he  did,  and  covers  up  his  sins  with  a  cloak  of  hypoc- 
risy, deserves  not  only  excummunication  from  the 
church,  but  the  contempt  of  an  honest-minded  writer 
like  Brother  Bosten.  It  is  individuals  like  this 
villain  in  Bosten's  story,  who  stand  in  the  way  of 
Christ's  gospel.  They  ought  to  be  swept  aside,  once 
their  guilt  is  established ;  for  the  best  of  us  are  im- 
pediment enough.  Too  many  of  us  are  stumbling- 
blocks  to  seekers  after  truth. 

"And  let  me  express  it  as  my  unofficial  opinion, 
brothers  and  sisters,  that  in  the  great  beyond  you 


"The  Way  of  Faith"  335 

and  I  will  receive  many  a  surprise.  If  I  am  faithful 
enough  to  gain  admittance  into  the  holy  city;  and 
should  I  meet  the  Agnostic  hero  of  the  story  under 
discussion,  upon  the  streets  of  gold,  my  surprise 
would  be  as  small  as  my  joy  would  be  great.  For  I 
love  and  have  hope  for  an  honest  heart,  be  it  Chris- 
tian or  'heathen/ 

"The  Way  of  Faith,  it  seems  to  me,  fills  a  need  we 
have  long  felt  in  the  literary  circles  of  this  church. 
There  is  romance  and  passion  in  our  religion,  my 
friends.  The  Christian  we  admire  is  not  an  insane 
hermit,  whose  life  consists  of  barbaric  penance  and 
selfish  delusions;  but  a  throbbing,  suffering,  rejoic- 
ing, striving  being,  spurred  by  faith,  restrained  by 
reason,  humbled  by  uncertainty.  Such  a  character 
our  fellow  thinker  and  striver  has  created.  That 
he  has  not  'converted*  him,  as  we  call  it,  is  his  busi- 
ness. 

"Bosten's  Agnostic  is  typical  to  me  of  the  honor- 
able man  of  the  earth.  We  preach  the  gospel  to  him 
and  make  him  our  friend  at  once;  but,  for  some 
reason,  he  never  comes  into  the  church.  Why?  You 
or  I  can  not  answer  the  question,  so  why  should  we 
demand  an  answer  of  Peter  Bosten?  The  nearest 
we  can  come  to  the  solution  of  this  psychologic  prob- 
lem, is  to  say  that  we  believe  in  different  'rewards' 
Hereafter.  'In  my  Father's  house  are  many  man- 


336  Peter  Bosten 

sions.  ...  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you.'  We  are 
apportioned,  in  the  mercy  of  God,  a  reward  accord- 
ing to  our  works,  after  death.  What  those  works 
are,  he,  himself,  must  determine.  It  is  not  for  you 
or  me,  my  friend,  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  a  fellow 
creature. 

"Let  me  therefore  beg  of  the  Conference  to  sanc- 
tion this  story  under  discussion.  It  has  got  heart 
and  soul  in  it.  The  characters  are  those  we  know; 
the  strivings  are  ours  too ;  and  as  for  the  ending- 
it  is,  as  it  should  be,  a  mystery  to  mortal  mind.  This 
thing  we  call  Life,  brothers  and  sisters,  is  too  elastic 
a  force  to  be  hemmed  in  by  prejudices.  Let  us  be 
more  liberal-minded  in  the  direction  of  truth.  Christ 
Jesus  is  too  big  for  us  yet;  we  must  stretch  out,  in 
thought  and  action,  if  we  would  associate  with  him. 

"I  do  not  ask  you  to  surrender  your  faith  in  the 
'straight  and  narrow  way*  which  few  shall  find  here 
on  earth.  Retain  it,  by  all  means ;  and  do  your  best 
to  prove  its  validity  in  your  daily  life.  But  in  the 
realm  of  Thought,  where  the  mind  of  man  honestly 
interrogates  the  Mind  of  the  Universe,  I  beg  of  you 
to  be  liberal,  charitable. 

"We  do  not  know  it  all — indeed,  we  never  shall. 
Truth  is  progressive.  A  little  of  it  can  be  picked  up 
every  day — if  we  are  sufficiently  humble. 

"Indorsation  of  this  book  means  nothing  more  nor 


"The  Way  of  Faith"  337 

less  than  the  approbation  of  truth-seeking.  Publi- 
cation of  it  by  our  Banner  Office,  here  in  Le  Bois, 
does  not  commit  us  to  an  approval  of  all  the  ideas 
advanced — or  of  any  of  them,  for  that  matter.  It 
merely  means  that  we  recommend  it  for  intelligent 
perusal.  The  day  of  pontifical  cursings  and  bless- 
ings, you  know,  is  about  over." 

Contrary  to  custom,  applause  greeted  this 
speaker's  remarks.  Discussion,  however,  did  not 
stop  here.  It  continued  (Carr  said  it  "raged")  for 
another  hour. 

The  last  speaker  was  President  Stern  himself. 
He  gave  the  chair  to  his  cousin,  Adam,  and  shaking 
his  mighty  shoulders  like  a  lion  preparing  to  spring, 
bounded  into  the  arena  with  set  jaws  and  blazing 
eyes. 

It  was  an  uncommon  procedure  for  him.  Usually 
he  allowed  the  Conference  to  fight  its  own  battles. 
Even  now  he  apologized  for  "inflicting  himself  upon 
them,"  as  he  expressed  it;  but  his  apology  and  the 
reason  for  it  were  forgotten  in  the  virile  eloquence 
that  followed. 

He  referred  back  to  Murdoch's  argument,  and  re- 
minded some  of  the  controversialists  present  that 
they  were  losing  themselves  in  a  maze  of  bigotry. 

"The  'fullness  of  the  gospel'  means  nothing  as  a 
phrase,"  he  said.  "We  might  juggle  the  words  for 


338  Peter  Bosten 

ever  without  making  any  intellectual  or  spiritual 
headway.  What  we  want  is  a  fullness  of  compre- 
hension. 

"As  a  former  speaker  has  said,  Truth  is  pro- 
gressive/ The  gospel  of  Christ  undoubtedly  com- 
prehends all  truth ;  but  then  who  fully  comprehends 
this  gospel?  It  unfolds  to  us  as  we  advance,  my 
friends;  and  we  can  only  advance  by  sincerely  ap- 
plying ourselves  to  a  search  for  knowledge  and  right. 
The  faculties  we  are  endowed  with  must  be  used  to 
the  full  extent :  not  until  then  are  we  entitled  to  the 
guidance  of  Christ's  Spirit.  If  we  are  mentally  lazy, 
and  willfully  ignorant ;  wedded  to  tradition  and  vul- 
gar lovers  of  the  superstitious,  the  mystical ;  we  can 
not  expect  to  enjoy  spiritual  understanding — were 
we  baptized  a  thousand  times!'* 

At  this  point  of  the  President's  remarks,  one  of 
the  ushers  handed  a  dark-eyed  young  woman,  seated 
at  a  secretary's  desk  beneath  the  rostrum,  a  note; 
and  without  a  moment's  delay  she  followed  him  out 
of  the  auditorium. 


"The  Way  of  Faith"  339 


CHAPTER  XX 
A  DYING  AGNOSTIC 

THERE  is  sadness  in  the  breeze  and  sunshine  of  an 
early-spring  afternoon.  Noel  Crayne  felt  it,  now, 
as  he  had  never  done  before. 

After  rising  suddenly,  like  one  in  a  trance,  and 
begging  his  friend  to  send  for  Helen  Dyke  at  once, 
Peter  had  lain  back  exhausted  and  fallen  into  a  doze 
again. 

Noel  watched  the  sunbeams  playing  upon  the  Kan- 
san's  hair ;  and  resting  his  cheek  against  the  foot  of 
the  cot,  allowed  his  tears  to  flow  unchecked. 

Why  not? — there  was  no  one  around.  Only  God 
looked  on ;  and  he  knew  the  love  and  sorrow  that  had 
distilled  these  tears. 

Presently,  however,  the  Missourian  started  from 
his  reverie,  hurriedly  wiped  his  face  with  a  handker- 
chief, and  answered  a  rap  on  the  door. 

"Come  in,  Helen,"  he  said,  quietly.  "I  think  Peter 
will  be  awake  in  a  moment." 

She  did  not  reply.  It  was  her  first  glimpse  of  the 
Kansan  in  more  than  five  years. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  during  which  an  oc- 
casional heavy  sigh  escaped  the  sleeper;  but  by  and 
by  Helen  spoke. 


340  Peter  Bosten 

"Did  he  really  send  for  me,  Noel?" 

"Yes,  Helen,  he  did;  and  there  was  no  mistaking 
his  tone.  He  will  wake,  in  a  moment — see,  he's 
growing  restless  again." 

A  light  groan  was  followed  by  a  nervous  shiver, 
and  Peter  opened  his  eyes. 

He  did  not  seem  surprised  that  Helen  should  be 
sitting  there.  His  gaze  rested  upon  her  a  moment, 
then  he  reached  out  his  hand  and  pressed  hers. 

Noel  made  a  plausible  excuse,  seeing  that  Peter 
seemed  to  be  so  normal,  and  left  them  alone. 

"Helen,"  said  the  Kansan,  his  voice  steadier  than 
it  had  been  earlier  in  the  afternoon,  "I  didn't  send 
for  you  until  I  had  to.  There  is  a  stubborn  devil  in 
me  somewhere  that  has  always  made  my  life  more  or 
less  miserable."  A  pause.  "You  hurt  me  so  much 
once  that  I  thought  I'd  never  be  able  to  get  over  it. 
But  as  I  look  at  you,  now,  and  see  the  same  sweet 
face  as  of  old,  I  know  that  my  love  has  never  really 
died." 

She  knelt  beside  his  bed,  at  this,  and  hid  her  face. 

"I  feel  that  I  have  come  to  the  end  of  it  all,"  he 
went  on.  "No,  no,"  he  added,  in  answer  to  a  re- 
proachful movement;  "it  isn't  imagination,  dear.  I 
can  feel  the  damp  mists  of  Eternity  against  my  fore- 
head. 

"Do  you  know,  Helen,  I  have  always  fancied  that 


A  Dying  Agnostic  341 

I  should  never  know  life's  great  joys.  They  have 
ever  seemed  intangible  to  me — like  the  notes  of  a 
song  or  the  tints  of  sunset.  I  often  think  that  my 
soul  must  have  been  shaped  differently  from  the 
average.  Perhaps  it  lacks  something." 

"Peter,"  she  whispered,  "I'm  afraid  you  will  tire 
yourself  out  talking  like  this.  Don't  you  think  you 
had  better  just  lie  still  and  let  me  massage  your 
throbbing  temples?" 

"No,"  he  answered,  with  a  shade  of  unnatural  im- 
patience, "I  must  tell  you  what's  on  my  mind.  I 
can't  rest  until  I  do." 

As  a  means  of  forcing  him  to  obey  her,  however, 
Helen  resolved  to  do  the  talking  herself;  and  began 
to  speak  of  the  Conference  debate  over  his  book,  in 
the  hope  of  interesting  him. 

He  listened  while  she  spoke  of  President  Stern, 
but  lost  interest  at  mention  of  the  others. 

"Whether  they  publish  it  or  not,  he  interrupted, 
"it's  not  much  good.  You  know,  I've  been  thinking, 
Helen — it's  you  people  who  are  the  doers  and  I  who 
am  the  preacher. 

"When  it  comes  down  to  the  fine  thing,  there's 
not  much  in  words.  I  think  it  was  Mr.  Stern's  com- 
panionship that  made  me  feel  this  so  keenly.  He  al- 
most had  me  converted,  I  believe.  But  when  I  came 
back  here  and  found  so  many  changes, — Noel  mar- 


342  Peter  Bosten 

ried,  Leader  reformed,  even  Adele  Cressy  interested 
in  church  work,  the  romance  of  the  whole  thing  got 
hold  of  me  and  I  just  had  to  write  it  up. 

"This  writing  habit  is  characteristic  of  my  nature, 
I'm  afraid.  There  is  something  insincere  about  it. 
Yes,  that's  it — insincerity.  That's  the  trouble  you 
always  found  with  me,  wasn't  it?  Own  up,  Helen?" 

She  begged,  with  wet  eyes,  that  he  would  not  go  on 
like  this;  but  he  only  smiled,  though  not  indiffer- 
ently. 

"It's  the  truth  I'm  trying  to  get  at,  Helen  dear. 
I  know  that  I  am  facing  Eternity.  There  is  no  doubt 
about  it  in  my  mind.  And  while  I  have  no  fear  (I 
can  laugh  at  hell  fire  and  all  that  heathen  supersti- 
tion) ,  yet  I  want  to  pass  over  on  the  other  side  with 
as  clear  an  understanding  as  possible. 

"Since  associating  with  Stern  I've  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  my  life  has  been  spent  selfishly.  Why, 
during  all  my  years  of  struggling  to  be  a  writer  and 
a  reformer,  it  never  entered  my  head  that  I  was  per- 
forming no  real  service,  making  no  real  sacrifice,  in 
the  cause  of  my  fellow  men.  I  went  on  thinking  of 
myself  and  working  for  myself.  If  I  felt  the  yearn- 
ing, which  every  true  man  ought  to  feel,  to  help 
somebody,  do  some  one  good,  I  went  to  my  type- 
writer and  wrote  an  article  about  it — after  which  I 
felt  that  the  obligation  had  been  discharged !  This, 


A  Dying  Agnostic  343 

Helen,  is  the  trouble  with  artists.  Their  work  may 
be  entertaining  or  even  uplifting,  but  in  the  final 
analysis  it  is  work  performed  for  themselves.  They 
derive  the  most  benefit  and  pleasure  from  it." 

His  mind  was  working  with  abnormal  energy 
again.  Helen  urged  him  to  lie  still,  but  in  vain. 

"You  might  as  well  let  the  candle  burn  out  now  as 
later,"  he  told  her ;  and  although  a  tear  appeared  in 
his  own  eye  at  sight  of  her  suifering,  he  went  on,  as 
though  driven  by  a  force  he  could  not  control. 

"You,  dear,  and  the  rest  of  you  may  have  been 
right  after  all  when  you  told  me,  in  words  or  actions, 
that  the  obstacle  to  faith  in  God  with  me  was  selfish- 
ness. Sometimes  I  feel  convinced  of  the  fact,  as  I 
lie  here  reviewing  the  past.  Yet,  at  other  times,  I 
lose  my  way  in  the  fogs  of  ignorance  and  doubt.  Ah, 
dear,  it's  weary  work ! 

"But,  at  any  rate,"  he  continued,  in  a  feverish  re- 
newal of  vim,  "an  assumption  of  faith  now  would 
be  sheer  hypocrisy.  The  kind  of  faith  I  should  want 
is  the  kind  Stern  has :  the  active  working  kind.  It 
is  only  of  use  in  life — no  good  in  death.  I  think  I 
almost  prayed  for  it  the  night  I  began  my  story  here 
in  this  room,  a  few  weeks  ago.  I  felt  that  in  order 
to  possess  it  I  must  perform  in  a  few  days  what  I 
had  neglected  to  perform  in  five  or  six  years.  But 
that's  impossible,  of  course.  A  dying  man  can  not 


344  Peter  Bosten 

assume  the  Christ  kind  of  faith.  "He  hasn't  time  to 
experience  it, — let  alone  test  it." 

"How  about  repentance,  Peter?"  Helen  asked, 
regretting  the  question  immediately. 

"You're  still  a  true  believer,  aren't  you?"  he 
smiled.  "But  girl,  if  you  knew  how  I  have  striven 
and  suffered  you  would  better  appreciate  my  state  of 
mind.  I  might  even  now  ask  to  be  taken  out  of  here 
and  baptized  for  the  remission  of  my  sins.  It  would 
be  easy  to  do  that,  Helen, — can  you  understand  ?  But 
my  brain  will  not  permit  of  it;  my  intellect  rebels. 
I  can  not  conceive  of  the  use  of  it." 

"But  you  might  be  raised  up,  Peter,"  she  returned, 
her  eyes  lighting  up  with  the  fires  of  faith, — "as 
God's  children  have  often  been,  by  his  mercy." 

The  Agnostic  shook  his  head. 

"No,  Helen.  If  faith  comes  to  me  it  must  come 
through  my  reason,  not  through  my  desires.  I  can 
not  bring  myself  to  do  an  irrational  act.  Now  that  I 
am  dying  I  should  be  a  coward  to  act  inconsistently 
with  my  life.  Deathbed  repentance  is  disgusting  to 
my  intelligence.  It  is  a  man's  life  that  must  deter- 
mine his  estate  hereafter — not  the  manner  of  his 
death. 

"My  works  here  on  earth  have  not  been  many,  I 
fear.  And  so,  when  I  go  hence,  I  shall  find  myself 
in  the  primary  grade,  no  doubt.  But  so  be  it,  dear. 


A  Dying  Agnostic  345 

I  shall  try  to  learn  my  lessons  faithfully,  and  if  I  fail 
beyond,  as  I  seem  to  have  failed  here,  there  will  be 
other  grades,  on  and  on — " 

"But  Peter,"  she  interrupted,  "supposing  you  were 
raised  up  now  and  lived  to  be  an  old  man?  Think 
of  the  useful  years  there  might  be  before  you !" 

He  shook  his  head  again,  sadly;  his  face  became 
whiter,  and  he  leaned  back  upon  the  pillow. 

"I  am  leaving  earth,  Helen.  There  will  be  no  more 
human  longing  for  me  after  to-day.  This  mortal 
faith  of  yours  is  beyond  me,  as  are  all  other  earthly 
things.  I  can  not  make — myself — clearer." 

He  sighed,  waited  a  moment  for  breath,  and  pro- 
ceeded : 

"We  are  saying  good-by  for  a  longer  period,  this 
time,  dear.  I  don't  feel  as  though  we  were  parting 
for  ever,  though — isn't  that  strange?  .  .  . 

"Good-by,  Helen.  .  .  .  Forgive  me.  .  .  .  God  forgive 
me, — and — give — me — ." 

The  last  word  was  a  whisper,  and  would  have  been 
inaudible  to  her  had  she  not  drawn  near  to  him  as 
he  uttered  it — 

"Knowledge!" 


346  Peter  Bosten 

CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  NEW  PETER 

OUTSIDE  the  stone  church,  where  Peter  Bosten's 
wavering  footsteps  had  first  halted,  God's  glorious 
sunshine  poured  down  in  cleansing  beams.  The 
flowers  in  the  adjoining  gardens  spoke  of  midsum- 
mer, that  season  of  the  year  when  Nature's  beauty 
most  successfully  defies  mortal  appreciation,  as  her 
works  defy  human  understanding. 

The  peace  of  Sabbath  seemed  to  fill  even  the  hearts 
of  the  sparrows  upon  the  eaves.  They  peeped  and 
twittered,  but  did  not  fly  noisily  about.  In  their  in- 
significant way,  they  seemed  to  be  musing  over  life ; 
wondering  if  it  were  not,  indeed,  more  than  food 
and  shelter,  flights  and  chatterings. 

But  if  the  spirit  of  reflection  and  quietude  reigned 
without,  a  more  solemn  influence  held  sway  within 
the  walls.  A  weary  wanderer  halting  by  the  open 
door  of  the  basement;  might  well  have  asked  himself 
if  here  were  rest  and  comfort  of  soul  at  last. 

Solemnly,  yet  not  mournfully,  swelled  the  notes  of 
a  hymn  that  has  touched  many  a  world-sick  heart: 

"Lead,  kindly  Light,  amid  th'  encircling  gloom, 

Lead  thou  me  on ; 

The  night  is  dark  and  I  am  far  from  home, 
Lead  thou  me  on. 


The  New  Peter  347 

Keep  thou  my  feet ;  I  do  not  ask  to  see 

The  distant  scene; 
One  step  enough  for  me." 

But  now  a  voice  is  speaking,  and  its  notes  are 
familiar  to  us.  Let  us  not  pause  outside  the  door, 
stealing  the  stray  joys  that  come  to  us,  but  go  in  and 
partake  of  them  fully. 

It  is  the  young  people's  early-morning  prayer 
service  and  a  tall,  slim  man  is  speaking.  He  can 
scarcely  be  over  thirty,  though  the  lines  of  thought 
are  stamped  upon  his  face. 

His  large,  blue  eyes  are  downcast  at  first,  but 
presently  he  raises  them  and  gazes  upon  the  presid- 
ing officer  of  the  meeting — the  Missourian,  no  less. 

"Brothers  and  sisters,  although  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  express  the  thoughts  and  emotions  the 
hymn  you  have  just  sung  stirs  in  me,  I  must  bear  my 
testimony  to  the  mercy  of  God  and  the  truth  of  his 
gospel,  as  best  I  can. 

"Three  months  ago  I  lay  sick  of  body  and  soul, 
longing  to  be  rid  of  life,  yet  looking  forward  to  the 
next  world  without  hope  or  gladness.  I  could  feel 
the  very  damp  of  death  upon  my  cheeks,  the  mists 
were  swallowing  me  up;  and  yet  I  could  not  yield 
this  mortal  mind  to  the  Mind  of  God. 

"I  did  not  know  it  then,  but  I  know  now  that  I  was 


348  Peter  Bosten 

in  Hell.  My  soul  groped  in  darkness.  I  had  reached 
the  last  dim  boundary-line  of  reason,  yet  it  seemed 
impossible  for  me  to  realize  my  condition.  I  cried 
for  knowledge,  until  my  voice  died  out  and  the  light 
of  my  eyes  faded.  So  far  as  I  know  I  was  dead. 

"And  then,  dear  brothers  and  sisters,  the  new  life 
came.  I  can  not  explain  it,  any  more  than  I  can 
explain  the  sunlight  that  comes  in  a  golden  flood 
through  these  windows." 

His  voice  shook  and  he  was  obliged  to  pause  a 
moment.  But  no  curious  eyes  were  turned  upon  him. 
The  pervading  spirit  of  the  place,  a  potentiality  that 
made  youths  and  maidens  weep,  prevented  that. 

"New  understanding  came  to  me.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  that  I  had  been  endowed  with  a  new  soul. 

"The  first  thing  I  remember,  after  the  darkness, 
was  the  sound  of  a  voice.  It  called  my  name.  Then 
I  saw  and  heard  a  loved  one  praying  for  me." 

The  figure  sitting  beside  him  sobbed,  quietly ;  but 
no  one  seemed  alarmed  at  this. 

"After  that  I  realized  that  my  headaches  and  my 
dizziness  were  gone.  They  had  disappeared  with  my 
old  brain — the  carnal  brain  that  sought  a  human  ex- 
planation of  everything. 

"It  would  take  a  lifetime,  I  believe,  to  adequately 
describe  the  mental  and  spiritual  experiences  I  have 
had  since  then.  They  are  almost  beyond  telling. 


The  New  Peter  349 

"So  I  shall  content  myself,  dear  friends,  with  as- 
suring you  that  I  am  now  happy  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life. 

"This  happiness  is  so  full  that  I  pray  it  may  not 
continue  uninterruptedly, — lest  I  become  selfish 
again.  I  want  to  feel  an  occasional  pang  of  my  old 
soul-suffering,  that  I  may  be  kept  humble  and  faith- 
ful. This,  I  have  no  doubt,  will  be  my  portion,  too ; 
for  I  have  a  naturally  restless  mind.  Yet  it  is  the 
mind  God  gave  me ;  and  now  that  it  is  regenerated, 
I  hope  and  believe  that  it  will  eventually  submit  to 
the  eternal  purposes  of  its  Maker. 

"This  is  the  joyful  assurance  that  has  come  to  me 
of  late.  The  old  man  has  been  laid  in  the  grave,  and 
the  new  man  now  rises  to  walk  in  newness  of  life. 

"My  heart  is  so  full  I  could  testify  for  ever  to 
God's  love  and  mercy;  but,  even  in  so  good  a  work, 
must  I  use  my  reason.  Not  the  old  reason,  however, 
— a  thing  of  human  dimensions;  but  the  enlight- 
ened faculty  that  works  in  unison  with  faith. 

"I  can  truly  say  with  John  Newman,  the  author 
of  the  hymn  we  have  sung, — a  man  who  surely  must 
have  suffered  and  been  blessed  in  the  same  manner 
as  I,  myself, — 'I  do  not  ask  to  see  the  distant  scene ; 
one  step  enough  for  me/ 

"The  entire  hymn  tells  my  own  story  with  mar- 
velous accuracy. 


350  Peter  Bosten 

"Ah,  brothers  and  sisters,  we  can  afford  to  do  right 
if  it  results  in  such  happiness  as  I  have  felt  of  late. 
The  sacrifice  is  not  half  great  enough  on  our  part. 
The  Almighty  is  too  generous ! 

"Let  me  ask  you  to  pray  for  me,  though,  in  spite 
of  my  present  joy.  We  are  all  uncertain  mortals  and 
can  not  afford  to  boast — even  of  our  happiness." 

With  this  remark,  he  sat  down;  and  immediately 
a  figure  arose  which  always  compelled  attention  in 
those  Sunday-morning  meetings. 

It  was  Adele. 

Although  a  stalwart  man-of -battle  sat  beside  her, 
one  whom  she  had  learned  to  love  and  whose  tale  of 
life  was  a  viril  romance  to  her;  she  found  difficulty 
in  saying  a  few  simple  words  that  would  have  meant 
absolutely  nothing  to — well,  let  us  say  the  editor  of 
the  Ladner  Evening  Globe. 

We  close  with  the  following  picture. 

A  table  underneath  the  trees  on  Milton  Stern's 
front  lawn.  It  is  laden  with  Missourian  luxuries, 
for  a  Kansas  author  has  just  paid  a  commission  to 
a  "divine"  for  placing  a  Canadian  war  manuscript. 

The  athletic  preacher  (but  for  the  theatrical  sig- 
nificance we  should  say  "actor")  sat  at  the  head;  a 
place  of  honor,  no  doubt,  but  also  the  point  farthest 
removed  from  a  tempting  variety  of  cake  and  fruits ; 


The  New  Peter  351 

on  either  side  of  him,  his  wife  (who  might  be  mis- 
taken for  a  more  mature  Helen  Dyke) ,  and  daughter. 
Beyond  them,  to  the  right,  a  lean,  fair  individual  and 
a  dark-eyed  one;  to  the  left,  a  person  who  insisted 
on  sketching  the  company  and  was  in  danger  of  hav- 
ing his  work  spoiled  by  the  nudging  of  a  more  prac- 
tical person,  who  feared  that  he  would  forget  to  eat. 

I  hear  Noel's  bass  rumble  of  a  laugh,  so,  afflicted 
reader,  I  beg  of  you  to  excuse  me.  Let  me  go  away 
with  those  happy  tones  ringing  in  my  ears ! 

I  leave  you  with  the  joyous  company;  warning 
you,  however,  that  some  one  is  liable  to  start  a  philo- 
sophical argument. 

Indeed,  to  be  perfectly  frank,  I  withdraw  myself 
on  that  very  account ;  for  I  can  not  remain,  in  spite 
of  the  many  temptations  to  neglect  it,  without  en- 
deavoring to  record  all  that  is  said :  and  that  would 
be  too  great  a  labor  for  a  scribe  who  with  aching 
head  feverishly  anticipates  those  sweet  words,  The 
End. 

But  as  for  yourself,  I  trust  you  will  partake  of 
Milton  Stern's  hospitality  and  attend  to  his  com- 
pany's conversation.  It  will  not  be  trivial,  I  promise 
you,  nor  yet  mournful.  You  will  hear  sentiments 
that  come  from  the  heart  and  have  a  vital  bearing 


352  Peter  Bosten 

upon  life.  You  will  feel,  when  you  know  them,  that 
these  men  and  women  are  worth  while — because  they 
are  sincere. 

THE  END 


